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Pratt, Painstaking Printer, the Printer* 

Tiptonville, Tennessee. 


UBRAf^Y of CONOR ESS; 
Two Copies RiCiiJvea 

JAN 16 1905 

Ooyynt£iii luiury 

3^. tv, V 

GUSS A XXc. Noi 1 

J o 3 7 /S' 

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Copyrighted December, 1904 by 
John Tinsley Pratt. 




Respectfully Dedicated to The 
Memory of 

HUGH O’DONALD DAVIS 






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This story was originally written in order to grat- 
ify the whim of a young lady, and with no thought 
of it ever being published. After having read 
Mary Johnston’s “Prisoners of Hope,” I sent the 
volume to the said young lady, pronouncing it a 
captivating story excellently told. She was so 
much disappointed over the way in which “Prison- 
ers of Hope” ended that I volunteered to continue 
the story — extricate Landless from his position upon 
the rocks in a manner following the usual custom of 
fiction writers — just for her satisfaction. My effort 
pleased her. In fact she was so well pleased as to 
let it be known to many of her friends who had read 
the book, and I had quite a demand for the “contin- 
uation of the story,” as they were pleased to call it. 
Their praises were so profuse that a great big lit- 
erary bee came buzzing in my ear, and I decided to 
re-write the story — changing the time and condition 
by a little use of addition and subtraction. “In 
Point of Honor” is the result. In the telling of 
this story I have endeavored to give an account of 
one of the most mysterious tragedies that has ever 
occurred in the history of the state of Tennessee; 
also to vindicate the honor of a man long living in 
another state under an assumed name. 

The Author. 


CoTvVeTv\s 

In Which Some Characters Are Introduced I 

Two Imperial Letters - -- -- -- -II 

In Point of Honor III 

The Indian’s Story - ------ -IV 

Arthur Howard Noll On The Threshold - - V 

The Vigil of a Night VI 

The Pursuit - -- -- -- -- - VII 

A Clearing in the Wilderness — VIII 

Baffled By a Pair of Boots ----- IX 

Under the Shadow of a Mountain — X 

Bits From History - -- -- -- - xI 

As TO Raffles XII 

Some Hours of Indecision ------ XIII 

In an Indian Village XIV 

A Forest Drama - -- -- -- -- XV 

Among the Echoing Craigs XVI 

The Bird of Freedom - - - - - _ XVII 

The Supreme Moment — XVIII 

The Pardon That Came Too Late - - - XIX 


■fln iPoint of Ibonor 


CHAPTER 1. 

IN WHICH SOME CHARACTERS ARE INTRODUCED, 

S IX men stood looking out across a vale that 
stretched away from the mountains, as 
beautiful and exquisite as any in Switz- 
land or Italy. Stretching away from the 
mountains to the Watauga, which in the Indian ver- 
nacular is “Beautiful River;” and beautiful river it 
is. Stand upon its banks and look down into its 
glassy waters and you see a heaven below, and then 
look up, and behold a heaven above — two mirrors, 
each reflecting the trembling stars. 

That was a valley of East Tennessee, where 
stands the Great Roane, the Great Smoky, the Great 
Unicoi, and the Great Stone mountains, among the 
loftiest in America, and upon whose summits the 
clouds gather of their own accord on the brightest 
day. There Vulcan might forge his thunderbolts 
and the gods of Olympus hold their councils of war. 

The men stood silent, drinking in the impressive 
grandeur of the scene. As far as the eye could 
reach stood forests of giant hemlock and laurel, 
oak and ash, pine and cedar, where the axe of the 
pioneer had never left a scar. 

“Nations, like men who compose them, grow — and 


Hn point ot IHonor. 

decay too, for that matter,” spoke one John Sevier. 
“This constant waxing and waning, inpour and out- 
flow of the tide of humanity is very interesting to 
trace. And what causes it all? Sometimes liberty 
is the goal, but more often it is the search for gold. 
It was the greed of gold that planted the seed of 
the Aglo-Saxon in this country and in India; but 
love of liberty was what caused yonder little colony 
to squat upon the banks of the Watauga with James 
Robertson as its leader. That colony, gentlemen, 
is the advance guard of a mighty civilization. That 
valley, yonder, we see stretching away into the dis- 
tance, sleeping peacefully in the shadows of these 
great mountains that lift their giant cliffs in majes- 
tic splendor above the storms, an hundred years 
from now will be dotted with cities, towns, villages, 
farms, and farm-houses, embowered in orchards and 
vineyards and surrounded by stock bearing meadows 
and verdant pastures, all forming the center of a 
great industrial and intellectual activity.” 

“That will never be possible until the colonies 
throw off the yoke of oppression. England is too 
jealous of the growing independent tendencies of 
her possessions in America to allow any such growth. 
Besides the Spaniards are in possession of the navi- 
gable rivers in this inland country and we would 
have to lick the devil out of them in order to get an 
outlet for comm.erce,” answered Hugh Stearns, who 
was thinking of moving out to Robertson’s settle- 
ment. 

“I wouldn’t mind seeing the Spaniards get a good 
thrashing, but I hardly think it would be a wise step 
to form a confederacy of our own just at present. 

2 


tn point ot Itonor. 

England will surely grant the demands of the colo- 
nies in a short time,” spoke up Colonel Cecil Fair- 
fax, a gentleman of His Majesty’s colony, Virginia, 
who loved this tragic new world, but also held tena- 
ciously to the traditions of his fathers. He was 
among the few who had hopes that the turbulent 
spirit of the colonists would be quelled without 
bloodshed, and that England would allow them their 
just rights. 

“Never, so long as an embecile king sits upon 
England’s throne and Parliament holds the reigns of 
government. Those arrogant Brittish Lords know 
not what justice is, or they would never impose an 
army upon us with such men as that scoundrel, 
Sussex, holding commissions in it,” was said. 

“Why, Henry, Captain Sussex has frequently 
been my guest and I have always thought him to be 
a perfect gentleman,” exclaimed Colonel Fairfax. 

“He is an arrogant, foppish scamp, sir, — a cheat 
and an adulterer,” retorted the other hotly. 

Especial attention is called to the next speaker. 
He was a man of about six feet, well knit, broad of 
chest, with muscles of iron and an eye as keen as an 
eagle’s. His cap was of coon skin with the ringed 
tail dangling down behind; his breeches were of 
buck skin while a hunting shirt covered the upper 
part of his body. He had sat gazing into the forest 
until the name of Sussex was mentioned, when he 
suddenly bepame interested. 

“I’ll warrant his being a rascal, but he’s got grit,” 
he slowly said. 

The former speakers looked wonderingly at him 
and waited some time as though expecting him to 
3 


fn point Q\ IHonov. 

explain. Getting no further remark, one asked: 

“How do you know he’s got grit?” 

“Fought a duel with him last month,” was the la- 
conic reply. 

“You did? Tell us about it,” from Sevier. 

“Well, there isn’t much to tell — only if there is one 
of you fellows that thinks he hasn’ t got grit just 
tackle him for a fight.” 

“What kind of weapons did you use — swords?” 
was jokingly asked. 

“Rifles.” 

“Rifles! Look here, John Kenton, you can not 
make us believe there is a man in all Virginia who 
is fool enough to stand up before your rifle!” 

Kenton took a bite from a twist of tobacco, ground 
down on it three or four times, cleared his throat, 
spat a flood of ambeer between his fingers at an in- 
nocent bug, then adjusted himself to an easier posi- 
tion, while the others settled themselves for his 
story. 

JOHN Kenton’s story. 

Well, you see, it was this way: You know Joe 
Perdue’s cabin is the last as you strike into the for- 
est going west/on the Watauga trail. Joe is one of 
these hale fellows, well-met, and likes to make his 
visitors have a good time. As there are lots of game 
in the woods around Joe’s clearing, many of those 
English officers go out to have a hunt with him. 
Sussex went out last month and it happened that 1 
pulled up at the cabin the day of his arrival. Noth- 
ing would do them but I must join the hunt the 
next day. 


4 


■ffn t>o{nt of IHonor. 

That night, up to a late hour, Sussex told tales 
of his narrow escapes on the hunt of the wild boar 
in England, and how he had slain them. He’s a 
good talker and had launched himself into a very 
interesting story when he was interrupted by the 
violent squeeling of one of Joe’s pigs. We rushed 
out just in time to see a cat bound into the forest 
with a fat porker. It was immediately decided that 
we hunt cats the next day as this was the third raid 
on Joe’s stye -within the-week. 

Now I must tell you that Joe is very fond of pets 
and among his pets is a big black bear. The En- 
glishman had not been in the house very long before 
that bear fell head-over-heels in love with him. It 
must have been Sussex’s clothes, for he was decked 
in the gayest of hunting suits. Well sir, you could 
not keep that bear away from the Englishman. He 
loved him so he even wanted to hug him. Sussex 
took it good naturedly, however, and even allowed 
the bear to frolic and gambol around him without 
any undue excitement. When the bear would get 
too familiar he would gently shove it away as though 
he was afraid if he used force it would make Joe 
mad. Finally Joe tied bruin up and a short time 
after that we all went to bed. 

Next morning, bright and early, we were up and 
ready for the hunt. It was agreed that when we 
struck the range we would separate and hunt the 
woods for three miles or more around the farm. I 
do not know what possessed me that morning, but 
the desire to hunt completely left me and I had an 
overwhelming curiosity to watch that Englishman. 
You see I was skeptical of those tales he had been 
5 


In point of ^ionor. 

telling about the boar — and 1 followed him. 

I had been following him for about an hour, I sup- 
pose, when I discovered that the bear was loose and 
was also on his trail. Just as I became aware of 
this fact Sussex stiffened up and brought his carbine 
to his arm-pit. Some twenty-five yards ahead of 
him I saw a cat scurrying up an elm. The cat 
reached a limb and there stopped, glaring down and 
waving its tail to and fro, as a cat will sometimes 
do. Sussex took careful aim. 

Bang! went the gun, and the report showed the 
bear where Sussex was. With a grunt of joy bruin 
came lumbering forward, but Sussex certainly mis- 
took his friendly intentions, for he dropped his gun 
and made a bee-line for the settlement. 

Gentlemen, I am accounted a pretty average run- 
ner, but I could not catch that Englishman to tell 
him the truth, hard as I ran. He never stopped for 
anything but took logs and brush-heaps as they 
came. I could have followed his trail in the dark. 
I believe he would have actually outran that bear 
had he not, in jumping a fallen tree, caught his foot 
on a small limb, tripping himself in the air, and 
bringing him down flat on his stomach. Before he 
could arise the bear was upon him, with both feet 
between his shoulders, ready to stick a cold snout 
in his face the minute Sussex should raise his head. 
Slowly the Englishman raised his head from the 
dust, the most abject fear written upon his face. 
He would take a last look at his terrible adversary. 
Marvelous change — he saw the colar around bruin’s 
neck. 

“Damn me, this thing has gone far enough!” he 
6 


Hn point 0^ Honor. 

said, and with a bound he was on his feet. The 
kick he gave that unfortunate bear was enough to 
have broken several ribs. 

Just then he saw me. 

“Damn me, you are the cause of this! ’Twas a 
scullion trick, sir, concocted by the spoin of a scul- 
lion race! For this I will have your heart’s blood!” 
and he stood transfixed, impotent, alternately scar- 
let with rage and white with the humiliating discov- 
ery of his useless fear. 

Joe stepped up about this time and asked what 
was the trouble. I told him. That made the En- 
glishman yet madder and he abused us both by call- 
ing us every name in the calendar. He said that 
we were descendants from a race of cut-throats 
and cowards, and there was not a gentleman in the 
whole country. He even went so far as to say 
there was not a man in the land who would face a 
gentleman in a fair fight. 

Just think of it. Accusing an American of being 
afraid to fight. Why, we are born fighting. We tug 
the instinct in at our mother's breast. Some of my 
dearest friends have’ died fighting, and my brother 
sank beneath a tomakawk’s blow. What did he 
know of fighting? Had he ever lain down at night 
with the feeling that, perhaps, the next morning he 
would wake up with a knife in his heart, or find his 
brains scattered about the floor? His statements 
were so ill-timed that I could not keep from laugh- 
ing. Well sir, when I laughed that Sussex stepped 
up to me, quick like, and before I knew what he was 
up too, he struck me on the mouth with the back of 
his hand. 


7 


In point of Honor. 

“There,” he sneered, “can you be insulted!” his 
features set awry to a sinister pattern. 

I would have thrashed the life almost out of him 
then and there had it not been for Joe. He stopped 
me and said we would settle the affair the next day 
according to the code. Joe is a funny fellow, any- 
way, any way you take him. 

Next day two of Joe’s neighbors dropped in and 
they, respectively, agreed to act as our seconds. 
Joe appointed himself surgeon for us both. Some 
time before the appointed hour the surgeon and 
seconds held a council, and I noticed that before it 
broke up they seemed to be enjoying themselves 
vastly. Presently Sussex was called in and during 
the conversation which followed I heard him say 
something about rapiers, twice. Then Joe seemed 
to be explaining something and finally Sussex re- 
luctantly agreed, and walked off. 

I was then approached, and then I understood 
what had occasioned their suppressed mirth. They 
had agreed that nothing had occurred that was 
worth shedding blood over, and with my permission 
they would have a little more fun out of the English • 
man. This did not suit me at all, for the force of 
that blow yet stung when I pressed my upper lip. 
After much persuasion, however, they prevailed 
upon me. Their plan was to use blackened gum 
balls instead of bullets, and at the crack of the guns 
I was to fall over and pretend that I was mortally 
wounded. Sussex wanted to use rapiers, but Joe 
had explained to him that his was the only one with- 
in twenty-five miles. 

The place of meeting was in an opening on the 
8 


In point of THonor. 

bank of a deep hole in that little spring branch that 
fronts Joe’s cabin. At the appointed time we were 
all there — for we all went together. The distance 
was measured off and we took our places. A gun 
was handed to each. 

“Are you ready, gentlemen?” 

“Ready!” we both replied. 

“One — two — three — fire!” 

At the crack of the guns I keeled over and com- 
menced groaning as if in mortal agony, at the same 
time holding both hands upon my stomach. Joe ran 
up and pretended to make a hurried examination. 
Up walked that Englishman, as cool as you please, 
and asked if I was seriously hurt. 

“He’s dying,” answered Joe. 

With that there was not any of us that could hold 
in longer, and a broad grin o’erspread each counte- 
nance. For a moment that Sussex stood livid. 
Then he mumbled something about the dead being 
buried, and before any of us could comprehend what 
he was going to do, he caught me by the feet and 
half drug, half flung me in that hole of water. 

********* 

The six men that have just before been mentioned 
was a surveying party returning from the survey of 
a tract of land granted to Colonel Cecil Fairfax for 
“services rendered” his majesty, George III, of En- 
gland. Just what the services were his majesty’s 
agent had not clearly defined, and Colonel Fairfax 
was at a loss to know. Later on he came to the 
conclusion that the grant was made in the nature of 
a bribe, but he knew nothing of this at present, so 
at the opening of this story we find him returning 
9 


ITn {point of THonor. 


from the survey and staking out of said claim — mar- 
veling all the while upon the sudden generosity of 
his liege sovereign. 

The party had pitched their camp for the night 
upon a spur of the mountains overlooking a beauti- 
ful vale of what is now known as East Tennessee. 
It was here that John Sevier, over one hundred 
years ago, uttered the foregoing prophecy that we 
Tennesseeans, of this day, have seen so profusely 
fulfilled, and which, had he been a man of more his- 
torical prominence, would have been handed down 
in the history of that great state as words immortal. 

The low growl of Prince, Colonel Fairfax’s dog, 
brought John Kenton suddenly to his feet the next 
morning. Silhouetted against an eastern sky of 
the early morn was a stalwart Indian, motionless, 
with both palms extended above his head in friendly 
fashion. He was clad in the costume of his race — 
that is, a breech cloth girdling his loins. At his feet 
lay a short rifle, such as the English were want to 
furnish their Indian alleys, and an immense hatchet 
and knife of English manufacture were visible in his 
belt of wampun. 

“Great Hatchet, by the great horn spoon!” ex- 
claimed Kenton. “No other Indian on this American 
continent could have slipped this close to the nose 
of that dog.” 

“Ugh!” said the savage, “McGillivray pay big 
money for the scalp of my brother.” 

“Why, peace has been declared between the set- 
tlement and that half-breed devil.” 

“Greek chieftain is big liar! Two-faced! Pre- 
tend he loves Robertson to-day, to-night burn his 
10 


Hn iPoint of THonor. 

town and scalp his women and children.” 

By this time the whole camp was aroused and 
stood around listening to the conversation. A hur- 
ried consultation was held, and it was agreed to 
move on at once, as Great Hatchet had ran across 
the trail of a small war party the previous evening, 
and it was not safe for such a small band to remain 
in the neighborhood any longer than necessary. 

We will not weary the reader by following that 
little caravan through that three hundred miles of 
tragic forest to their Virginia homes. In this day 
such a journey would hardly be thought of, on foot, 
or even on horseback. Yet in the days before the 
revolution, and even after, our forefathers traveled 
greater distances and thought nothing of it. Neith- 
er man nor devil could stop them in their undertak- 
ings. They were undaunted by the perils of the 
forest. Surrounded by wild beast and their more 
savage and deadly enemy, the Indian, they lived and 
had their being. They had the strength of perfect 
manhood, the tireless energy of children and their 
goal was a mighty civilization. They were the men 
who arose to the mastery of adverse environment. 
Grim warriors, plunging into the strife and colonizing 
a wilderness. They helped fertilize this glorious 
country of ours with their life blood — as did the In- 
dian and the buffalo. Speak and think of them rev- 
erently. 

Then a life was as a multitude; to-day a multitude 
is but a drop in the great ocean of humanity. 

11 


CHAPTER IL 


TWO IMPERIAL LETTERS. 


C OLONEL FAIRFAX walked out on his 
portico and stretched himself. A feeling 
of contentment pervaded his whole being. 
There is nothing like a good meal at home 
to a man who has camped out two months, or even 
for a shorter time. The Colonel had arrived just in 
time for the noon meal, and having finished, he had 
adjourned to the portico to look over his mail, which 
had arrived during his absence. 

Being interested in the happenings of the mother 
country, the Colonel tore the wrapper from the 
“Public Advertiser,” a red hot political paper, pub- 
lished in London in the year 1774. He hastily 
glanced over the journal for the most important ar- 
ticles. Under the assumed name of “Junius” a 
gentleman of London was writing for this paper, 
and Colonel Fairfax was an interested and close 
reader of all his contributions. This “Junius” was 
a very iconoclastic writer; on several occasions bit- 
terly denouncing the actions of Parliament, and 
waging war on several of its members. He had 
even written an open letter to the king, himself, to 
the vast annoyance of that august monarch. There 
were many heated arguments as to who this gentle- 
man was, and so scholarly and so masterly were 
his letters that several were of the opinion that he 
was no other than the learned McCauley. 

Even in America the speculation was rife as to 
12 


■ffn point o\ IKonor. 

who this bold and brilliant writer was. His claim to 
the attention and admiration of the colonist was 
the fact that he had on several occasions attacked 
England’s Colonial policy, although he believed that 
Great Britian had the right to levy taxes upon 
America. Further he had openly denounced Town- 
send, whom every loyal American had violently 
hated, pronouncing him a self-esteemed cockney, 
while the patronage of the King had turned his head. 
It had been Townsend’s boast that England would 
tax the colonies whenever she pleased, and should 
they object, she would ram it down their throats at 
the mouth of a canon. 

After scanning the paper over, the Colonel laid 
it aside for a more liesurely perusal. He then 
turned to a pile of letters. The first to claim his 
attention was one bearing the Imperial seal of En- 
gland. Breaking the seal, he read: 

To Colonel Cecil Fairfax, Virginia: 

Sir, Greeting: 

No doubt you have seen an account, err this, of 
the supposed crime of one, Arthur Howard Noll, in 
which it is alleged that he murdered his wife and 
child. The papers contained a full account of the 
affair, as Noll was an officer of high rank in the 
English army, and stood in high esteem by both la- 
dies and gentlemen at court. 

Owing to legal complications it was thought best 
to defer the charge of murder and give preference 
to one of more vital importance to the welfare of 
the realm of England. Therefore, Noll has been 
tried before the highest tribunal of the land, (from 
which no decision can be revoked) and found guilty 
of treason. His sentence has been fixed at three 
13 


1fn ipoint of THonor. 

years penal service under one of His Majesty’s 
subjects in an English colony. 

Learning through the firm of Scovill & Scovill, 
merchants, that you “desire a man of intellect and 
business ability; one capable of taking charge of 
your affairs in the hour of need/’ we have taken the 
liberty of selecting the said Arthur Howard Noll 
for you. In the name of His Majesty, and the 
realm of England, this man is recommended to you. 

Knowing you to be a man of steadfast loyalty to 
His Majesty’s service, we believe you will take con- 
trol of aforesaid Noll and allow him no further in- 
tercourse with the enemies of your king. As a 
proof of the high esteem in which your services are 
held, and your loyalty felt, His Majesty has just re- 
cently made you a grant of a large tract of land in 
the New World. Appreciating your industry and 
fortitude, I hope you will duly use your means and 
influence to colonize this tract. 

The said Noll has been given transportation upon 
the Plymouth, a ship, as you know, plying between 
Liverpool and North America. He is to be placed 
in the charge of Scovill & Scovill’s agents at Rich- 
mond, they to await your orders. This letter is 
sent upon the same ship. 

Present my respects to your most gracious wife, 
also your noble son and most fair daughter. I, with 
many friends, hope to soon have the pleasure of 
your visits to England. Sir, I beg to remain your 
loyal friend and His Majesty’s most humble servant, 
FREDERICK NORTH, 
Premier of England. 

Colonel Fairfax was almost struck speechless 
with amazement. While true that he had placed an 
order with Scovill & Scovill for a bond slave, yet 
here was a manner of securing one without prece- 
dent since the institution of penal servitude had 
been adopted in her colonies by England for her 
14 


irn point o\ THonor. 

criminals. There was a vague feeling of some- 
thing unexplained about the matter. The spirit of 
intrigue permeated it. Yet to all seeming the let- 
ter was explanatory. But wait! There lay anoth- 
er letter. It also bore an Imperial seal — that of the 
Queen. Its contents, without the formal heading, 
were as follows: 

My Dear Friend: 

By good fortune I to-day learned of the ban- 
ishment of one Arthur Howard Noll, and of his be- 
ing placed in your charge. I furthermore learned 
upon what charge he was condemned (which was 
told you) and write this letter hoping to befriend 
one who has proven himself in every way worthy. 

There are some things about the matter which are 
a mystery to Noll’s friends, and which he alone can 
explain. I will give you, dear Cecil, a condensed 
account of the affair just as it happened, according 
to the best of my knowledge. In order to throw 
more light on the subject, I will relate a few inci- 
dents prior and just after the supposed homicide. 

On last Thursday the King was subjected to an 
attack of his old malady of the brain, which was at- 
tributed by his physicians to over-worry. The 
Queen, greatly alarmed over his condition, and fear- 
ing that it meant his complete derangement, deter- 
mined to seek the advice of a certain soothsayer 
that resides down near the Thames. I accompanied 
her. We disguised as burgesses and made the 
journey there in safety. But, when returning, two 
religious fanatics, or anarchists, evidently recogniz- 
ing the Queen, suddenly sprang out upon us and 
would have slain us, had it not been for Howard 
Noll. He rushed forward to our cries for help, 
dashing one of the ruffians unconscious against the 
ground as he was about to strike the Queen, and 
severely wounding the other with his rapier. 

15 


Iln point of IKonor. 


The next day the Queen summoned him to the 
palace in order to more befittingly acknowledge the 
service rendered her. We learned, through a ser- 
vant, that while awaiting an audience, Noll had the 
misfortune to make an enemy of Lord North, Pre- 
mier of England. It happened in this way: Noll 
left word for the usher to call him from the library, 
having first sent in his name. While there. Lord 
North came in to look up some reference in regard 
to the law. The two men had never met. My 
Lord, mistaking Noll for an interloper, and further- 
more overstepping the bounds of his authority, 
ordered him out. Noll paid no attention to the 
demand, of course. It was repeated. Getting no 
reply. North demanded: 

“Fellow, will I be forced to spit you upon my 
sword!” at the same time drawing. 

Quick as it takes to tell it, Noll was on his feet, 
and the rapiers clashed. Equally as quick. North’s 
sword went flying across the room, and he was left 
defenseless. Noll went quietly over to where the 
blade lay, and picking it up, deliberately broke it 
across his knee. 

“Sir, perhaps the pen is mightier than the sword in 
your case — as an instrument of torture,” he re- 
marked, just as the footman called him. The af- 
fair, I’m afraid, was unfortunate for Noll. 

The next day Noll was sent to the Tower on the 
charge of murdering his wife and baby. He had 
been found sitting on the bedside, dazed, looking at 
his baby boy, whose brains had been dashed out 
against the bed-post. His wife, who had left him 
some two years ago, for a French profligate, lay 
dead on the floor with her neck broken. The marks 
of a man’s fingers showed where he had gripped her 
on the arm. Since then the friends of Noll have re- 
peatedly tried to hear the story from his lips, but 
have always been refused admittance to his cell. 
The only one, so far as we can learn, who has talked 
16 


Hn point of THonor. 

with him since the terrible affair, was Granville, a 
close friend of the Prime Minister. Two days after 
Granville’s visit the report came that Noll had es- 
caped. Ten days after that the news reached 
us that he and his father had been overtaken, he re- 
captured, and his father killed. 

As before stated, we to-day learned that he had 
been condemned to three years penal servitude in 
America on the charge of treason. Now, is not that 
very strange? Judged by the laws of England the 
crime of treason entails the penalty of death. If 
he was guilty, why this exception? Why was it 
that he was not tried before a jury of his peers upon 
the charge of murder? There is a mystery about 
the affair that we are unable to solve — a suggestion 
of intrigue. 

You, dear friend, who have perhaps seen him by 
this time, look into his face and see if you think he 
is guilty of treason, or that other most foul crime. 

It is the opinion of we, his friends, that he, know- 
ing much of the connivings and intrigues that do so 
beset us here at court, was thought dangerous to 
the cause of England’s enemies, and so exiled to 
penal service in the colonies. While we are power- 
less to aid him, yet we do beseech you, in all fair- 
ness, to treat him as a man and an equal and not as 
a slave. Our early associations with you (and I in- 
clude the Queen with myself) have shown us what 
manner of man we ask this favor, and we believe it 
will not fall upon deaf ears. We feel sure that he 
can offer a satisfactory explanation of the tragedy, 
which cut off one of the brightest careers in En- 
gland; and we further believe that he would have 
made the explanation had not some one high in au- 
thority, or possessing great influence, prevented it. 

We, of the English court, learned to love Arthur 
Howard Noll while he was one of our members. 
The more thoughtful among us saw in him a man of 
no ordinary talents. He was studious and thought- 

17 


In point of Honor. 

ful, as is very rare the case with one so nobly 
born. Even at his youthful age he was well versed 
in affairs of state and has frequently been put for- 
ward in the settlement of the most intricate diplo- 
matic questions. In the army he was one of the 
few men for whom Clive had a profound respect. 
Surely it is not treasonable to fight for country, and 
make for that country the most noble sacrifices. 
Get him to tell you of the sacrifice which darkened 
his life, yet saved the honor of the House of Hano- 
ver, and, furthermore, saved England from what 
would have been a most disastrous war. 

Of whatever other crime he may be guilty, there 
is one thing of which we are certain — he is not guil- 
ty of treason. His removal has either been insti- 
gated at the hands of England’s enemies (now that 
she needs all loyal sons) or else those who are at 
the helm of our misguided old ship of state, think 
(because an enemy to them, an enemy to England) 
that he possesses too much knowledge of the criti- 
cal state of affairs, and that it is safer to remove 
him for a short period. I tell you this, my friend, 
that you may understand the case as Noll’s friends 
see it in England, and I hope you will act accord- 
ingly. 

Until the King recovers from his present attack, 
we can do nothing. So in the name of that friend- 
ship which we bore one another while you were at- 
tending studies here, we. Her Majesty and Mary 
Bolingbroke, again beseech you to treat him as a 
man and an equal. 

Here the letter closed. From amazement the 
expression on the Colonel’s face changed to wonder. 
Here was an epistle bearing the seal of the King, 
requesting him to take charge of a man condemned 
for treason. There was another from a woman for 
whom he had once cherished a feeling of more than 
18 


Hn point of THonor. 

friendship, asking him to receive kindly one of her 
friends. It was indeed a question of moment, one 
hard to decide. He picked up North’s letter again, 
slowly reading and studying it, until he came to the 
phrase, “which I hope you will use your means and 
influence to colonize.” 

“lima! lima!” he almost shouted. 

“Yes, Papa?” came from a silvery voice in the 
room. 

“Gome out here!” 

A girl, just blossoming into womanhood, came out 
and approached his chair. 

“Weil, Papa?” she questioned 

“Where is Robert?” 

“Brother? why — er — O yes, he and Captain Sus- 
sex are out fowling in the marsh.” 

“Confound that boy, he is never here when I want 
him. Tell Beasley to come here, and bring quill 
and paper.” 

Soon Beasley made his appearance. He was a 
broad-shouldered, red-headed, heavy-set man, with 
a jaw like a steel trap. Colonel Fairfax was writ- 
ing when he approached. Hastily sealing the miss- 
ive, he thrust it forward to the overseer. 

“You are to take this immediately to Scovill & 
Scovill at Richmond; so get ready for the journey.” 

“Yes, sir,” turning to go. 

“And, Beasley!” 

“Yes, sir,” facing again. 

“They will place in your charge a man whom you 
will bring safely here.” 

“Yes, sir,” again facing to leave. 

“And Beasley.” 


19 


IFn point of THonor. 


“Yes, sir.” 

“You are in no wise to let him escape, but treat 
him kindly.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“And, Beas I say, Beasly!” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Odds! Zounds, sir! do not be in such a hurry to be 
off! You are to treat him like you would — er — like 
you — er — damn it, sir, you are to treat him like 
you would a gentleman!” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Mrs. Fairfax appeared in the doorway. 

“Why, Cecil, with whom in the world are you quar- 
reling?” 

He regarded her with quiet dignity for a moment. 
“Madam, I never quarrel. I sometimes fight — ” 
he pondered his words — “and when I do there’s 
bloodshed.” 


20 


CHAPTER III. 


IN POINT OF HONOR. 

H N old Colonial homestead in Virginia. An 
ideal place for a man to pass his days. 
Nestling there on an elbow of the James, 
with acres of waving corn and tobacco 
in the rear and a beautiful, peaceful woodslot in 
front. Yonder to the right of the rear is a row of 
negro cabins, and just to the left, the granaries and 
immense tobacco sheds. A man walks out on the 
portico and a negro servant follows with a bottle of 
wine. Look at the man. His manners are simple, 
yet included in that simplicity are sincerity, honor, 
and elegance. It has been said, and justly, perhaps, 
that no man is a hero to his servant. Yet there 
never was a man who more enjoyed heartfelt admi- 
ration than the old-time negroes used to manifest 
toward their masters, where those masters were 
the true types of chivalrous gentlemen. 

What of chivalry? It is dead., The grace of a day 
dies with that day. The deeds of the warrior passes 
into the books of history; reality passes into a rem- 
iniscense; love culminates in a hazy dream; to-day 
our memory flickers with the traditions of the past. 

Fairfax Hall was a delightful country home, forty 
miles from the city of Richmond. Isolated from 
the struggling tides of life; free in sky, in air, and 
landscape; in hill, and slope, and dell; Cecil Fairfax 
was want to say that God in His flight across the 
universe had stooped and with His infinite hand had 
21 


fln point 0^ 'Honor. 

made beautiful the rough places. No palace on 
earth, no tenement and vesture this side of heaven, 
holds the treasure of such happiness as the divine 
plan made possible in the old homesteads of the 
Colonial period and the anti-bellum days. They 
made beautiful pictures, but the pictures faded 
when the South laid down her arms. 

Colonel Fairfax was a man, although tracing his 
lineage back through a long line of England’s kings, 
yet he was distinctly and impressively an American. 
He belonged to that class of Americans who set up 
for themselves an aristocracy of their own — sepa- 
rate and distinct from the old school. The world 
has never seen men like them. They rode well, 
hunted well, read well, managed the affairs of life 
well, fought well, and died well. 

During the absence of Beasley the Colonel had 
passed a crisis in his life. The two letters from 
England had been eye-openers. They had set him 
to thinking. Even in granting a favor the mother 
country was adding a burden. For did not Lord 
North plainly invite him to use his means and influ- 
ence to colonize the tract of land just recently 
granted him? And for what? That England’s 
source of revenue might be increased. The policy 
of the home government had ever been a selfish one 
toward the colonies — allowing free scope in devel- 
opment, yet setting up arbitrary measures when 
once developed. Burdens were added to burdens 
until they were already greater than the American 
people would bear. And the end was not yet. 

Colonel Fairfax reasoned thus: What if his 
house had always been to the front in fighting the 
22 


■flu point of Honor. 

battles of the king? This was the land of his birth; 
he expected to die here, and his children after him. 
Was a man forced to sacrifice himself and posterity 
upon a precedent? In point of honor it was his 
plain duty to use his means, and influence, and in- 
tellect to help lift the burden from the land. When 
a Fairfax came to a decision, he generally acted by 
it. Colonel Cecil was a Fairfax, every inch of him. 
He would no longer hesitate, but would take up the 
cause of his country, as he long since should have 
done. 

“America for Americans,” he thought. “The na- 
tionality of America against the nationalities of the 
world. The lightning has flashed and the thunders 
will resound. Whether right or wrong the game is 
on and must be played.” 

His thoughts were interrupted by his wife and 
daughter joining him.. 

“Cecil, John Kenton was here this morning and 
says that the Indians are becoming troublesome out 
at the Watauga settlement.” 

“Odds! Zounds! can not a man enjoy his own in 
peace? It has not been six months since John Se- 
vier got those copper-colored heathens to agree to 
a treaty of peace in which they not only admitted to 
not molest the settlers any more,, but ceded to them 
a large tract of land lying along the western borders 
of the mountains.” 

“It is not the nature of an Indian to remember a 
treaty longer than a month, and it seems that the 
settlers would have long since learned not to trust 
them. Your grant is in that ceded territory, is it 
not?” asked Mrs. Fairfax. 

23 


irn point ot THonor. 

The Colonel sat, pondering, and before he replied 
lima broke the continuity of the conversation by 
asking: 

“Papa, do you think it probable that the thirteen 
colonies will rebel?” 

“In all probability they will unless England con- 
cedes to them their just rights, which is very doubt- 
ful at present.” 

“Why, Cecil, I thought you were of the opinion 
that England had, and of a right, should, tax the 
colonies?” 

“I was, and am yet of that opinion, madam, but 
I draw the line when taxation goes beyond the 
bounds of reason. It is not right for England to 
make the colonies make up the deficit in her de- 
pleted treasury brought on by her French and In- 
dian wars. Besides, for the last few years we have 
been forced to support a British army on American 
soil.’’’ 

“Well!” and there was profound astonishment in 
Mrs. Fairfax’s voice; “I never once dreamed that 
a Fairfax would prove a traitor to his king!” 

The Colonel winced. 

“I’ll admit,” he said, “that judged by the laws of 
England my language would be accounted treason- 
able; but in point of honor, and justice, it is not. 
You see, madam, it is altogether according to the 
position in which a man is placed, and whether a 
question touches him directly — at least, it has been 
that way with me. Up to a year or so ago — thanks 
to the great influence of my family in England — I 
was not materially effected by this taxation. Con- 
sequently, I gave very little thought to the question. 

24 


■ffn ipoint of IT^onor. 

In fact, I thought England was asking help for the 
hour, as it were. But recently I have awakened to 
a full understanding of the danger as our most 
thoughful gentlemen see it. It is not right to tax 
any body of men without them having a voice in the 
matter. When men suffer taxation without repre- 
sentation, they may not directly place the shackles 
upon their own persons, but they are bending the 
servile knee for posterity.” 

‘‘Papa, if the rollicking old shade of great grand- 
father, Wathrock Fairfax, could hear you talk to-day 
he would kick the lid off his coffin,” and a silvery 
peal of laughter followed. Then lima added more 
thoughtfully: ‘‘Only I feel sorry for that little set- 
tlement on the Watauga if the colonies do rebel.” 

‘‘Why so?” the Colonel asked. 

‘‘Because, this morning Captain Sussex said that 
if it came to an actual conflict, fifty thousand Indian 
warriors will be enlisted across the Alleghany 
Mountains to fall upon the rear of the colonists, 
while the regular army would subjugate the sea- 
board. If that be so, the first to suffer will be that 
little settlement.” 

‘‘Captain Sussex is a fool — an arrogant British 
fool!” the Colonel hotly exclaimed. ‘‘When does he 
expect to rejoin his regiment?” 

‘‘We do not know — surely his stay here is wel- 
come?” put in Mrs. Fairfax. 

‘‘O, certainly, only he and Robert are spending 
too much of their time at cards and dice. I observe 
that they are almost constantly playing — except 
what time Sussex is with you, are they not, lima?” 

‘‘Why, Captain Sussex says that all the English 
25 


tfn point of IHonor. 

gentry indulge at hazard,” ventured Mrs. Fairfax 
before her daughter could reply. 

“Madam, I do not disapprove of a game of chance 
among gentlemen, where the stake is low and the 
gentlemen are honest. In fact, I rather enjoy an 
occasional tilt, myself. Money staked at hazard is 
like age to wine — it adds spice.” 

“Then what possible objection can you have to 
the young gentlemen playing?” 

“Nothing, particularly — only from the repeated 
inroads upon my purse of late, I wot me that the 
game has been deucedly one-sided.” 

“Surely, Papa, you do not think Captain Sussex 
would cheat! Governor Denmore, only at his last 
visit here, told me that the Captain was from one of 
the best families in England, was considered one of 
the best swordsmen in the army, and was highly re- 
spected by ” 

“Which all may be a fact — but, my daughter, a 
thorough knowledge of fencing, or even a polished 
manner, is no safe index to an honorable charac- 
ter.” 

The pet hobby of Mrs. Fairfax was English aris- 
tocracy. She longed to take her place in it. Her 
ambition was to see her daughter the queen of Lon- 
don society. To her, the peerage was the summit 
from which men deteriate, and to be outside the pale 
was to be well along the road of deteriation. The 
urbanity of Captain Sussex, and his vivid accounts 
of the London social circle, had thrilled her; and 

while he was not such a brilliant match She 

could hold in no longer: 

“I am sure that that which is befitting an English 
26 


In ipoint of THonor. 

nobleman would not disgrace the son of a man who 
has turned traitor to his king!” and there was a 
world of sarcasm in her voice and manner. 

“Madam, it has been my observation of late, that 
you have British Lords on the brain ” 

“Cecil Fairfax! I never ” but he was not to 

be checked: 

“Odds! Zounds! it impresses me that if a thousand 
sensible American ideas were floating around, and 
in their midst one little fool lonely wiggle-tail of a 
British idiocy, some women would get away from 
the ideas as being too big game for their guns, and 
set sail for the idiocy.” 

A woman will smile to cover a heartache; she 
will bear uncomplainingly the brunt of life; she will 
rock the cradle of a Washington, or a Lincoln, or a 
McKinley, yet in a dispute she will have the last 
word, for that is a woman’s way. There might 
have been a battle-royal, for Mrs. Fairfax was a 
spirited lady and did not easily capitulate, but the 
measured strokes of oars on the James attracted 
the attention of all. Soon a cutter was beached at 
the landing, and Beasley alighted, immediately fol- 
lowed by Arthur Howard Noll. 

“Your bond slave, I presume,” questioned Mrs. 
Fairfax. 

“The same. Madam,” answered the Colonel. 

“It would be more seemly if a traitor harbored 
the cut-throat condemned by the laws of a king than 
appear as that criminal’s bond-master,” she said, 
turning fiercely and repairing to the kitchen, where 
she was soon busy instructing the cook in preparing 
a brandy sauce for a plum pudding, a favorite dish 
27 


fln point of IHonor. 

of the Colonel. Thus it is that the love of woman 
will slip in through the loop-holes if not allowed to 
enter at the open door. 

lima observed her father as he awaited the ap- 
proach of the two men. Although he had not dis- 
closed the contents of the two letters to his family, 
yet the ladies had stolen a reading of them and had 
discussed as to what would be the outcome. 

The men mounted the steps. Colonel Fairfax 
■stood at dignified ease; lima was intently examining 
a honey-suckle that clung to the veranda. 

“Sir, your man,” spoke Beasley, and fell back a 
step or two. 

“I presume, sir, that I have the pleasure of seeing 
before me, Arthur Howard Noll?” 

The face that was lifted to the Colonel might 
have been chiseled out of marble for its Stoic im- 
passiveness. 

“If it be a pleasure for a bond-master to see his 
future slave, then, sir, you have.” 

A curlew uttered his call in the meadow. The 
hum of a spinning wheel in a negro cabin stopped 
with a whir. There was silence for the space of a 
minute. Then the horn sounded for six o’clock, and 
its answering echoes were taken up by the negroes 
in the fields, while the welkin rang with their reso- 
nant yoedle. 

“Beasley, show Mr. Noll to the room up-stairs, 
next to that of Robert’s. See that his supper is 
served there.” Then turning to Noll, the Colonel 
continued: “Sir, I will see you in the library im- 
mediately after dining.” 

The hopes and ambitions of men are but as bub- 
28 


In point ot Honor. 


bles made by children at play. We rejoice to see 
them grow and glisten in myriad tints of amber, 
and purple, and gold, but when they float away and 
break — our hearts sob. 


29 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE INDIAN S STORY. 


days later Mrs. Fairfax and Captain 
i 1 Sussex came out of the library and stood 
in the hall for a moment, talking quite 
confidentially, at last walking out on 
the front porch. 

“What, in your opinion, Captain Sussex, is the 
noblest pursuit of woman?” 

“Lady Fairfax, if I might be allowed to judge upon 
so delicate a matter, I would venture to say that 
the noblest pursuit of one woman is an honest man 
— like myself.” 

“Look here, sir, I will have none of your foolish- 
ness; besides, I would have you understand that 
self-esteem and such bold effrontery as you have 
just displayed, are but poor accomplishments, and 
are hardly pardonable?” retorted the lady, assuming 
a severe tone, yet at the same time showing that 
she understood and was not displeased with the 
young man’s meaning. 

“But to be serious,” she continued, “I want your 
advice. The girls of America are so different from 
those of England. Their tendencies are different. 
They are not content with the drawing room, and 
those little innocent amusements, but must follow 
the men in their rougher sports and pastimes. Now 
I have tried to raise lima up to a proper apprecia- 
tion of her social position, but ” 

“Madam, I assure you, your daughter is the fair- 
30 


Hn point of IHonor. 

est blossom in this beautiful land of wild roses.” 

Lady Fairfax was pleased — what lady would 
not be? 

“Do you really think so, Captain Sussex? Do 
you think she would grace one of your English 
drawing rooms — do you?” 

“Do I !” and there was a touch of deep sincerity 
in his voice, “I think she would put to shame Aurora, 
herself!” 

“I will be honest, and say that I am pleased to 
hear you say that. Every mother’s heart swells 
with pride at hearing words of praise of her child — 
and especially from such a gentleman. Although I 
say it, as perhaps ought not, yet I do think lima a 
comely lass, and ” 

“Lady Fairfax, I will stake my reputation upon 
the statement; such a face, such a form, such little, 
dainty feet are not to be found in all England- ” 

She laughingly shoved him from her: 

“Go away, young man, I do not understand you. 
Go prattle your nonsense to lima — perhaps, she 
may. You will find her down on the river gathering 
water lilies.” 

He gracefully lifted his hat to her, made a sweep- 
ing bow, and went out to join her daughter in gath- 
ering the water lily — a flower which is a fit emblem 
of what a woman’s life should be — pure and white. 

Ah, mothers, fond parents, you who would prone 
select for daughters their liege lords and masters, 
stop and investigate before you choose a man who 
would place his reputation upon a die — he may be 
profited in losing. 

Captain Sussex went gayly down the path that 
31 


In point 0^ Honor. 

led to the river. He hummed a popular air of the 
day, and his heart was glad. Perhaps, had he seen 
the face of the Indian warrior that was peering at 
him from a small clump of bushes, as he passed, his 
manner would not have been so gay. After the 
Captain passed the Indian stealthily followed. The 
road led to a little bay-like projection in the river, 
where it forked, one path going around the bay and 
the other leading down the stream. Captain Sussex 
hesitated for a moment as to which path to take, 
and then decided on the one around the bay. The 
Indian, seeing this, made a circuituous turn, running 
at the top of his speed so as to intercept the En- 
glishman at the last curve toward the stream. So 
intent was the native on arriving first that he did 
not notice the Captain stop, then turn, retrace his 
steps, and take the other path — having caught sight 
of lima at a point down the river instead of in the 
direction in which he was going. He soon joined 
the young lady, while the Indian hastily threw him- 
self in a bunch of tall cut-grass to await the coming 
of his prey. 

“Fair lady, may I have a seat in your birch bark 
canoe?” Sussex asked, as he stood looking down at 
lima from his position on the bank. 

She was just the airiest, fairest slip of a thing; a 
knot of water lilies tucked in her hair, under a hat 
tilted up on one side with the jauntiest, sweetest 
air, while the lace at her throat fluttered with a 
grace that no art can understand. She looked up, 
and her eyes met his in saucy light. 

“You may. Captain Sussex, if you promise not 
to dip the boat.” 


32 


tn point o\ IHonor. 

O, the winning witchery of some women’s smiles! 
No artist could duplicate them, unless he could filch 
from nature and place upon his palette the tint of a 

kiss What man, seeing her there, would not 

worship? Captain Sussex quickly took his place — 
kneeling in the boat at her feet. 

“lima,” he said, “fairest of all these lilies, I love 
you. Gan you not see that on my soul’s book, laid 
bare to you, that love is written on every page? 
Ah, how your presence fills my pulses! Since first 
1 saw you, I loved you; and when from you, you have 
ever floated before my vision, beautiful, shadowy, 
ever holding out a small white hand beckoning me 
to a sweeter influence. Yes, with all my soul I love 
you And the tender, loving words I have pre- 
pared for, and the songs I made But to-day, 

my sweet, your beauty mocks my praise!” 

She put up a hand to check him, while the other 
sought her throat, just as though she were trying to 
swallow her heart and was afraid she would fail. 
His words thrilled her; his passion mastered her; 

she knew not what to do A twig snapped! A 

man was walking in the path by the river. His head 
was bowed low, and his hands were locked firmly 
behind him. Apparently, he was unconscious of 
other presence. 

“Since when has my father’s bond-slave been al- 
lowed the privilege of prowling about the premises; 
and by what authority, and by what excuse, sir, do 
you interrupt the privacy of his daughter’s ram- 
ble?” 

The man started quickly at her voice, and raised 
his head in time for her to note the poignant outlines 
33 


Ifn ot IHonor. 

of despair. Their eyes met. Hers glanced defiance 
and anger; his unveiled the wretchedness, the pent- 
up misery of a soul. His face was like unto a bat- 
tlemented wall upon which utter despair and indom- 
itable will waged unceasing combat. She saw, and 
understood, and a great pity filled her heart and 
took the place of her anger. 

“Pardon me. Mistress Fairfax,” he said, “I had 
forgotten that you were in the world.” 

Then he resumed his walk along the river. Soon 
he came to where the road forked, but he kept 
straight ahead, on around the little bay. Two eyes 
as keen as an eagle’s saw him turn the curve, and 
watched him as he approached the bunch of tall 
cut-grass. 

Sussex and Noll were almost of a size, and, to- 
day, similarly dressed. The shadows of the cypress 
helped carry out the other deceptions. Noll slowly 
approached the spot where the savage lay concealed. 
Now he was there. With a cat-like spring, the In- 
dian was before him, a knife in his upraised hand. 
The next spring was but a second later, but in 
making it the native almost lost his balance by his 
foot being on a rolling stick. By the time he could 
recover, Noll was on guard — the upraised wrist de- 
scended into bands of steel. A fierce encounter 
followed. 

The two men were pefect specimens of manhood. 
The Indian was one of the most powerful chiefs of 
the six nations; but his opponent was a trained ath- 
lete with muscles of iron. For ten minutes the bat- 
tle went silently on, until both men were panting for 
breath. It was the Indian that brought the conflict 
34 


tn point 0^ ^onor. 

to a close. Quickly relaxing his muscles, he sprang 
backward, almost bringing Noll down to his knees. 

“Hugh! Indian heap fooled — thought my brother 
was the pale face chief!” 

Noll was too near out of breath to reply. The 
sudden relaxing of the Indian’s hold had had the ef- 
fect of almost completely exhausting him, and he 
stood wholly at the other's mercy — every minute 
expecting the savage to take advantage of the situ- 
ation. The Sachem quietly assumed a posture of 
ease, however, and by the time Noll could compre- 
hend the turn of affairs, their attention was attracted 
by John Kenton and Robert Fairfax, who were com- 
ing up the river from the direction of the King’s Inn. 
Kenton took in the situation at a glance: 

“Been trying a fall out of each other?” he asked. 

“Indian heap fooled!” 

“It seems that this dusky savage mistook me for 
an enemy, and was about to reap his vengeance upon 
my innocent head when he discovered his mistake. 
I’ll warrant, though, that he will not soon forget the 
encounter.” 

The muscles around the red-skin’s mouth relaxed: 
“My brother is little, but as strong as the leaping 
panther — heap fool the Great Hatchet.” 

“Whom did you take him to be?” asked Robert. 

“Sussex, the pale face chief.” 

“What the devil has Sussex done to you that you 
should want to murder him!” demanded Robert, 
quickly approaching the Indian in a threatening like 
manner. Great Hatchet stood as firm as a statue, 
never moving a muscle. After Robert had fallen 
back a step or two, he deigned to reply. His story, 
35 


fn point of litonor. 

being fully interpreted, was in words, something 
like this: 

“Listen, young man, and your ears shall drink no 
lie. My English name is Waunatoncah, mighty 
chief of the Massawomekes, fiercest tribe of the six 
nations. My people call me ‘Great Hatchet’ be- 
cause of the bigness of my tomahawk. My people 
love me, and honor me, and have followed me on 
many grand hunts and in many great battles. My 
tribe is the grandfather of nations and came from 
the land of the setting sun. Listen! Once I led 
m,y people on a hunt to the ‘dark and bloody ground.’ 
While there I met Onewah, a beautiful maiden of 
the Ghoctahs. She was like the doe, possessing 
the slenderness of the willow, the sweetness of the 
wild flower, the frolicksomeness of the dancing sun- 
beam, and tripping about as light as a feather. 
Waunatoncah loved Onewah with a mighty love, and 
when she spoke it was like liquid moonlight to his 
heart. I woed her with many presents and soft 
caresses, and won her. Then I took her to the land 
of the falling river, to the home of my fathers; and 
there we were happy. She tended my maize, while 
I led my people on the hunt and in battle. Many 
were the scalps I had to show her, and the valorous 
stories I told her on my returns; and she did love to 
listen. Then, one day, I found Sussex. He had 
been hurt by a wounded roe-buck. Waunatoncah, 
the Indian, took him to his wigwam and made for 
him a bed of softest rushes, and spread over it the 
buffalo robes and deer skins. Onewah brought him 
food and administered unto him. There he stayed for 
many moons, until well enough to return to his peo- 
36 


■ffn ipoint 0^ Irtonor. 

pie. Sussex is a pale face chief, and the wigwams 
of his people were only a day’s journey from those 

of my people The days passed, and winter 

was coming. I called my people together and we 
held a council. Then we went upon a hunt for the 
bison, that my people might have meat for winter. 
Sussex came, and finding me away, he woed Onewah 
with soft caresses and stories of the pale face. He 
passed a spell upon her and took her heart from her 
Indian lover, and she followed him to the wigwams 
of his people The old women and the maidens 
told me, and my heart grew dark and heavy like the 
clouds darken the glistening river. I rocked myself 
in the lonely solitude of my wigwam, and my people 
beat themselves — and wept. Then the North wind 
came and cycled o’er the trees and withered the 
rushes, and filled the air with snow like flakes of 
ashes. The Indian was forced to stay in his lodge. 
But there was no Onewah to kneed my bread and 
make my cakes. Then the South wind came and 
brought the spring — and with it came Onewah. 
Sussex had left her; grew tired and left her, and she, 

broken-hearted, had returned to my people Now 

listen! According to an ancient custom of the 
Massawomekes, a woman guilty of adultery must 
be stoned to death. So when my people heard that 
she had come, they gathered together, and each one 
picked up a stone as they came. She saw, and un- 
derstood, and her head bent low, she wept The 

husband must cast the first stone, and then the oth- 
ers, until the whole tribe has passed. I had not the 
heart to hit her, so my stone passed harmless by. 
And then I heard the thud upon the soft flesh — and, 


fn point of Honor. 

0, the bitter cry of anguish! It stirred nay heart to 
vengeance — there before the tribe of nay people I 
swore to have vengeance. The land is not so broad, 
the waters are not so deep, but what I will follow 
hina, and plunge nay knife in his heart that the dogs 
and the wolves naay lick up his life blood. I have 
spoken!” 


58 


CHAPTER V. 


ARTHUR HOWARD NOLL. 

f T was just as Robert Fairfax had surmised. 
At an early stage of the game he detected 
Captain Sussex cheating. He would have 
never noticed the Englishman slipping the 
cards under the table had he been less vigilent. 
The very boldness of the swindle, and Robert’s im- 
plicit confidence heretofore, had blinded him to the 
fact that he had been fleeced and cheated before 
to-night. Furthermore, Robert noticed that Sussex 
was drinking heavily — more than his wont — and as 
he, Robert, was much the stronger drinker, he en- 
couraged it, in the hopes that Sussex would become 
more bold, expose himself hopelessly, and thus af- 
ford an opportunity for an open denouncement. 

“Come, here, Caesar, bring more wine. The 
Captain leaves tomorrow and we will make a night 
of it! Here, fill up our pipes again with the natural 
leaf — that which is perfumed with the oil roses!” 

Captain Sussex rapidly shuffled the ivory leaves 
together; dealt Robert three cards, two to himself, 
two to Robert, and then three to himself. Robert 
noticed that he dexteriously slipped the ace of 
hearts from the bottom of the deck to his lap as he 
laid the cards upon the table. 

“The pipe to sooth man’s troubled thoughts. Cap- 
tain Sussex, but that which touches the hearts of 
men is wine and women.” 

“You are right, Robert — I pass.” 

39 


ITn point of Honor. 

“So will I — a nice jack-pot we have here, Captain.” 

“Lovely, Robert, one calculated to make the 
game interesting.” 

It was Robert’s time to deal. He very careless- 
ly put the cards together and passed them out. 

“Luck’s against me to-night -^I pass again,” said 
the Captain. 

“The winner of this pot can purchase his lady-love 
a present that will please her vastly,” answered 
Robert, as he put up his anti. 

Captain Sussex now took charge of the cards, 
spending much time over them, all the while carry- 
ing on a running conversation with young Fairfax. 
A pause was made by Caesar entering with the wine 
and pipes. 

“We will not need you any more to-night, Caesar 
— this bottle will be enough.” 

Had Robert been less attentive to his own wine 
cup he would have noticed that the Captain was 
emptying part of his wine in the cuspidore as he 
would stoop over to clear his throat. The trick 
was a bold one, but bold tricks were what had car- 
ried the Englishman through many a time before. 

The game was called “draw poker,” and possessed 
as great facination as that of dice. When played 
between men of honor it was one wholly of luck and 
required no extra skill; but the rascal could easily 
use it to his purpose. This Robert knew and, there- 
fore, chose it in preference to that of dice. Since 
hearing Waunatoncah’s story he was convinced that 
his father’s words were well-timed when he told 
him to beware of the Englishman. Therefore, he 
patiently awaited the opportunity to thoroughly hu- 
4.0 


■ffn point of Honor. 

miliate the Captain by exposing his double dealing, 
and to up-braid him for the heartless manner in 
which he had returned the Indian’s kindness. 

The time came. Robert noticed Sussex slip the 
ace of clubs with the other purloined fellow. Drop- 
ping a card as if by accident, Robert shoved back 
his chair to pick it up, at the same time covertly 
watching the actions of his opponent. Grasping two 
of the legs, he quickly drew the table toward him, 
raising his head at the same time. Sussex was 
caught in the very act of exchanging the cards. 
Robert stood up, fixing his eye upon the English- 
man with a chill glance, his whole attitude express- 
ing deepest scorn. 

“Ah, Captain Sussex is at his old tricks again — 
abusing the hospitality of his friend!” 

“What do you mean, sir?” and a flush mounted 
the Captain’s face — partly anger, partly chigrin. 

“I should think a man drawing the princely salary 
given the officers in the army of a king would not 
have to replenish his purse by unscrupulous methods! 
Surely I am mistaken in what my eyes have seen; 
they certainly tell me false.” 

Captain Sussex had partly regained his compos- 
ure. 

“Scullion,” he spat, “think you that your company 
was what I sought? A man, if he be a man, should 
seek the association of those that profit him intel- 
lectually. Think you that you are my equal soci- 
ally or mentally? Does the falcon stoop to mingle 
with the stupid storks, except to ” 

Robert put out his hand 

“Does the gentleman carry in his heart a lust so 
41 


In point of Honor. 

foul, a desire so unquenchable, that he must enter 
the wigwam of an untutored savage, who has suc- 
cored him, and, like the base usurper that he is, take 
that which cannot be returned? Does the man of 
honor steal the heart of a woman, who is another’s, 
and desert her in her unseasonable hour? What 
would the officers of your mess say if they knew, 
Gaptan Sussex? Faugh!” — Robert made a savage 
burlesque at homage — “Captain William Henry 
Sussex, Lord in the realm of England, a cheat, a 
thief, and an adulturer!” 

The Captain’s eyes flashed bitterly; the color of 
unconquererable passion flushed his face; his breath 
came thick. 

“Fool,” he hissed, “you force me to silence you 
in your own room !” 

Quick as a flash the Captain’s rapier was out and 
he made a desperate lunge at the other’s heart. 
The table was all that prevented the ending of young 
Fairfax’s life then and there. In the lunge, Sussex’s 
leg came in contact with it, consequently swerving 
his aim, so that the weapon glanced a rib. 

Robert had not calculated the duplicity of the 
man with whom he had to deal. He hardly thought 
that, smarting under the humiliation of discovery, 
the man would allow his anger to so overmaster him 
as to attempt his life. But he had no time to think; 
Sussex was preparing for another lunge. Picking 
up a chair as a shield, Robert began making a re- 
treat. Sussex was between him and the door lead- 
ing into the hall and his only means of escape was 
through the door connecting his with Noll’s room. 
He stepped quickly backward and tried to open it, 
42 


In point ot Honor* 

but it was fastened. When Colonel Fairfax had as- 
signed the adjoining room to Noll, Mrs. Fairfax or- 
dered the door connecting them nailed up. 

A low fiendish laugh greeted Robert’s effort. 
Sussex felt sure of his man now and would take 
his time. A murderous gleam was in his eye as he 
warily approached his victim to avoid the sweep of 
the chair. Robert’s eyes were continually sweep- 
ing the room as if looking for some suitable weapon 
of defense. Finally his eye, watchful yet wary, fell 
upon his sword stick lying upon the foot of the bed 
(the which no gentleman of that day was without.) 
’Twas but the work of a moment to get it and wheel 
at guard. Sussex hardly had time to grasp the 
meaning of what had happened before Fairfax was 
upon him with the fury of a tiger. 

But was not he, Sussex, the much better swords- 
man? Many had been the time that he had met 
Robert with the foils and bested him. Besides he 
had deceived Robert into drinking more wine than 
usual — in order that he might be more easily gulled 
at cards. With some men, however, wine may sap 
the very vitals, yet not befuddle the brain. Such a 
man was Robert Fairfax. The more wine the 
clearer his judgment and steadier his nerve. He 
fenced to-night as he had never fenced before. 

Thrust! Parry! Thrust! Parry! — neither man gain- 
ing the advantage. The confidence which Sussex 
manifested at first gradually diminished and he set- 
tled down to fight like a man who had met his equal. 
Deftly, swiftly they fought-; step by step they 
crossed and recrossed the room, and the longer 
they fought the more murderous the conflict be- 
43 


■ffn point of IHonor. 

came. Each man knew that it was a fight to the 
death. 

Listen! Some was trying the fastened door. 
Sussex heard it. He started at the sound, and al- 
most lost guard. A shadow of fear came creeping 
over his face and into his eyes. 

“Curse, you,” he hissed, “the devil’s own trick is 
in your steel to-night!” 

Then he added: 

“You scullion, if I cannot fix you one way, then the 
other,” throwing himself behind the table at the 
time. Robert was surprised, but before he could 
press the attack, Sussex had rapidly shifted his 
rapier and drawn from his bosom an army pistol. 
Thrusting it forward until the muzzle was in three 
feet of the other, he fired. The flash almost set 
Robert’s clothing on fire, and with a groan he sank 
to the floor, clutching at the wound in his breast. 

Crash! 

The connecting door flew into splinters. Arthur 
Howard Noll stood upon the threshold. A glance 
sufficed to show him what had happened. Picking 
up Robert’s fallen weapon he stepped quickly for- 
ward. Sussex made as if to leave the room by the 
hall door. Noll would spit him through the sword- 
arm with his blade — a rasp of steel greeted his 
effort. Sussex’s parry was followed up by a vicious 
thrust; then a duel ensued, which for fierceness 
and murderous intent, has had few equals. 

For some time Noll was kept busy fighting on the 
defensive, but after a time his tactics evidently 
puzzled his opponent, for Sussex soon began to fight 
more cautiously and cooly. Each man was feeling 
44 


Hu ipoint of THonor. 

for the others strength. “This is not your quarrel,” 
said Sussex. “Will you force me to add another 
victim to my list to-night?” 

“Yes, if you possess the skill,” and Noll’s touch 
grew firmer and more aggressive. A deadly light 
shown from his eye and manner. It seemed, some- 
how, that he had known this man all his life, and 
that they had ever been sworn enemies. An intense 
hatred welled up in his breast, and a deadly resolve 
to pierce the other’s heart took possession of him. 
By that subtle instinct which all swordsmen possess, 
Sussex felt this, and settled himself to the sword- 
play of his life. With the fury of despair he threw 
himself into the fight, and Noll was again on the de- 
fensive. Sussex was gradually forcing him back on 
the table. In making a quick step backward, Noil 
came in contact with it, and for a moment he was 
badly guarded. Like a flash of lightning Sussex's 
blade came darting forward, but in his too intense 
desire to end the fight, his aim was awry once more, 
and only a slight flesh wound was the result. 

The touch of the steel acted upon Noll like a 
spark touched to a keg of powder. He now forced 
the fight with such vehemence that Sussex was 
compelled to fall back. So fierce and rapid were 
Noll’s passes that almost a constant circle of flame 
was drawn from the two weapons by their contact. 
Harder and harder he pressed Sussex. Ever more 
dazzling grew his tactics. Sussex stood at bay for 
a moment, fighting without confidence and nervous- 
ly. A revelation of avenging skill was before him, 
and he realized that his only chance was to make a 
dash for it. Closer and closer he fought his way 
45 


fn l>oint of Honor. 

to the shattered door. Now they were fighting 
directly over the body of Robert. Then an unex- 
pected interruption occurred. The door leading 
into the hall was thrown open and a woman’s voice, 
vibrating with anger — partly fear — demanded: 

“For shame, gentlemen! — why all this hubbub?” 

Both men stepped back and turned toward her. 
It was then that she saw the body on the floor be- 
tween them. With a low anguished cry she sank 
beside it and tenderly lifted the head into her lap. 

“My'God,” she faltered, “who has done this!” 

Quick as a flash a fiendish, cunning thought en- 
tered Captain Sussex’s head. To think was but to 
speak: 

“Your father’s bond slave has murdered your 
brother, and would kill me,” he said. 

Astounding! 

Robert stirred. With a last effort he lifted him- 
self upon his left elbow, and pointing with the index 
finger of his right hand at Sussex, he said: 

“Liar! Thief! Adulterer! Murderer!” 

The effort was his last — he fell back gasping. 
Captain Sussex realized that all was lost, and ,with 
a bolt, he was through the door, down the steps, and 
into the darkness. 

“Follow him!” commanded lima. 

Noll bounded after him — but too late. Fear had 
added speed to Sussex’s feet, and he had reached 
the river and shoved off into mid-stream before Noll 
could come up. There was nothing left in which to 
follow, so Noll was left to no other recourse but to 
wend his way back to the house to lend a helping 
hand. He found the negroes all huddled up in the 
46 


■ffn .point of ^onor. 

great hall, their eyes rolling about and themselves 
the very picture of superstitious and awed fear. In 
passing Mrs. Fairfax’s room he saw old “Mammy 
Dinah” standing crooning over her mistress, who 
lay sobbing across the foot of the bed. Noll then 
went slowly up the stairs. lima v^as yet sitting 
with her brother’s head in her lap, while with tender 
caresses she smoothed the tresses of his hair back 
from his temples. He took her gently by the arm 
and told her to go to her mother, while he, with the 
help of the servants, would lay out the body. 

“Let me stay with him just a little while longer,” 
she said. “O, how can I give you up, my brother!” 

And then she looked up and saw the deep well of 
sympathy from his soul, and her woman’s heart 
gave way to tears. Half leading, half supporting, 
he took her from the scene and saw her enter her 
mother’s room. 

How sad it is to lose a friend or a relative in 
death. But did you ever think of how much sadder 
it is to lose a friend who yet lives — a country that yet 
exists — but which is no longer your country, no more 
your friend, but perhaps your enemy? The loss of 
a friend or a relative in death is a misfortune; the 
rupture of a kindred tie is a tragedy. 

47 


CHAPTER VI. 


IHE VIGIL OF A NIGHT. 

C OLONEL FAIRFAX was away attending 
a call meeting of the Virginia House of 
Burgesses, and Beasley, his over-seer, 
was off after a runaway slave. There 
were no men on the place except the negroes and 
they were so badly frightened as to be almost worth- 
less — Caesar being the one exception. With the 
assistance of Caesar, Noll placed the body on the 
bed, and then went to the stables, saddled Robert’s 
mare, and rode rapidly over to Henry Kenton’s, the 
father of John. He knew that the hunter was at 
home, and his object was to get him to go poste- 
haste in the cutter for the Colonel. It being only a 
mile over to the Kenton farm, the two men were 
soon back, and within an hour the boat was manned 
by slaves and John Kenton was being rowed rapidly 
down the James. Noll saw to everything being 
made ready for the departure and watched the boat 
until it was lost in the darkness. He then turned 
toward the house in order to dress the body for 
burial. , This over, he and Caesar took up the vigil 
of the night. 

For some time the negro sat bolt up-right, his 
eyes looking like two balls of cotton in the faint 
flicker of the candle light. A negro, however, is 
like a child — let him become still and silent and he 
is soon fast asleep. Caesar was not an exception, 
although perfectly devoted to every member of the 
48 


1Fn ipoint IHcnor. 

Fairfax family — Robert being his especial charge 
since the young man’s infancy. 

Silence! 

Noll was left alone to the sombre, moody cells of 
unlucky thought. For perhaps an hour, he battled 
against it, but gradually the spirit of brooding crept 
over him and finally he was lost to everything save 
thoughts as they chased each other into his excited 
brain. Robert was at rest upon a couch in the center 
of the room, with a sheet thrown over him for a 
shroud. Constantly darting in and out among the 
tumultuous actions of Noll’s brain, was the picture 
of a man laying aside the coronet for the sable cap 
of a skull. After many hours of this fevered action 
his thoughts became based upon things tangible. 

A flood of memory enveloped him. Now he was 
back in a bungalow in India, and had retired for the 
night. Sleep would not come, however, and he lay 
tossing and restless. A sound as of a cat scratch- 
ing on the bamboo floor catches his ear. Cautiously 
peering from his curtained bed he saw a faint glim- 
mer of light through a- crack, and then he knew 
what it was and he lay back in bed, pretending sound 
sleep. Soon the noise ceased. Then he saw a 
man’s head cautiously appear up through the floor; 
then the shoulders; then the entire body. With a 
cat-like tread the Mahratta approached the dresser. 
He picked up a locket and several other pieces of 
jewelry, and, stealthily approaching the bed, he be- 
gan taking off a seal ring With a spring Noll 

had the thief in his grasp. Od’s blood, the man was 
greased! Fast and furious the battle waged, but 
try as he might, Noll could get no firm hold on that 
49 


•ffn potnt of IKonor, 

eel-like body. Then he gave up in disgust, and with 
a derisive laugh the native disappeared through the 
hole he had made. Sleep came then, and shortly 
the morning. 

With the morning came a rhessage from old En- 
gland. His mother was dangerously ill and had sent 
for him. Procuring a year’s leave of absence, he 
set sail. At what a snail’s pace the boat had trav- 
eled! And then he landed in England, and stepped 
from the boat just in time to save the life of the 
queen and her lady. Hardly taking time to see the 
queen to the palace, he had hurriedly rushed to his 
home. Too late! His mother’s spirit had winged 
its way to the bar of that High Tribunal. But there 
was his boy. It seemed — somehow it seemed — that 
his very life centered in that boy now — and his old 
father. How vivid memory has stamped the picture 
upon his brain; how true come back the impulses of 
those moments. 

And then his wife had come — she who had left 
him two years agone, and who had been the price of 
his sacrifice to save the honor of the House of Han- 
over. Ah, the bitter, scathing words she had used! 
And then; the night he had sat in solitary vigil over 

his own dead Great God, even a recapitulation 

of the scene almost drives him mad! Great Being, 
in Your infinite power, blot the page from Memory’s 
book. 

Then came his incarceration in the tower. How 
he longed, and watched, and listened for the ap- 
proach of a friend. Would none ever come! Had 

even his old father deserted Wait! What was 

that? A key turns in his cell door. A man ap- 
50 


IFn ff>oint of IKonor. 

proaches him in the gloom, shoves him forward, and 
says, “Fly!” Yonder in the semi-light . stands his 
father. They flee toward Scotland: 

“ like arrow fleet 

liis heart flies singing to Hope’s harvest land; 

But lo 1 the golden blades in promise sweet. 

Stiffen into Rue for Memory’s hand.” 

The scene changes. He is now on the ocean, 
chained between the decks of a ship. Ah, the bitter, 
black thoughts he had garnered in the salvatory of 
his soul on that voyage! Death would have been 
far preferable to the torture he had suffered in mind 
and body. His soul was like a ship, tempest-tossed, 
with neither helm nor chart; lashed about between 
the billowing clouds of hope and the frowning, awful 
breakers of darkest despair. 

He could see how the convict, in his narrow cell, 
could resign himself to that just doom, as he lifted 
his red eyes through the place that admitted the 
narrow thread of light, and gazed far-off into the 
deepening blue. The convict’s life was fixed, his 
days were numbered. With him (Noll) the end was 
not yet, his life was to be that of a slave. Through 
the hatch his hopeless gaze had fixed upon one tiny 
star. And then his heart had almost burst in its in- 
tense desire to creep there among that myriad of 
worlds. Why not? How calm, how peaceful, how 
sweet seemed the sleep of death. Only a short, 
fitful struggle, and the end." Was the soul immor- 
tal? Ah, that was the question that had caused 
many to pause upon the brink. But what of the 
man who had lost all object in life; who was neither 
superior to self nor to circumstance; who, like him- 
51 


■ffn point of IHonor. 

self, was drifting without aim? Then he thought of 

his mother and her mother’s prayers Yes, God 

was good. In His wisdom He had allowed, in His 
circling care, a place from the towering oak to the 
tiniest flower. 

The scene changes again. He has reached this 
tragic new land with its heterogenious population. 
There is a vigor in the air which affects him; all un- 
conscious he takes an interest in things. Then he 
stands before Colonel Fairfax, and the Colonel in- 
vites him to tell his story. He does so, and this 
grand, good man is deeply moved and advises him 
to lay aside the past and begin life anew in this new 
world; make this home and country and help fight 
the battles. His reception is all so different from 
what he had expected — he must have time to think. 
Time passes, and he does nothing but think — retro- 
spective, not prospective. Next; the day he wan- 
ders down by the river and his brooding is interrupted 
by the voice of lima; and for a brief moment they 
had looked into each others’ souls. He went over 
again his fight with Waunatoncah, and had heard the 
Indian’s story. To-night he had battered down 
the door with a stool. 

A gentle patter of rain against the window pane 
broke Noll’s reverie and claimed his attention. He 
went over and gazed out into the darkness for a 
time. Then, crossing the room, he lifted the sheet 
and stood looking down on the face of the dead. 
Presently he became aware of another presence, 
and looking up, he saw lima in the doorway, her eye 
resting upon him. Softly she came and, unconscious- 
52 


■ffn point o\ THonor. 

ly, laying her hand upon his that was holding the 
sheet, she bent over and kissed the pale lips. Then 
they stood together for awhile, looking down on the 
calm dead face. Somewhere in the great blue hush 
of eternity was Robert’s soul; and somewhere in the 
black darkness and rain of the night was a man, 
fleeing. Blacker than the night that envelops him 
he sees, immutable, his life page written in gore — 
every shadow a spectre, every sigh of the wind a 
groan. But the touch of a small white hand had 
stilled Noll’s troubled spirit, and in his heart had 
crept a strange sweet peace. 

Passion, thou art a mystery; Love, thou art but 
Passion’s soft daliance with human souls. 

55 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE PURSUIT. 

was in the year 1774. The Colonies 
£ \ were upon the verge of war. There 
were many hearts that could only see 
overwhelming disaster in the momentus 
question in which the country was engaged; yet 
there were others, patriotic, out-spoken men, going 
about the land stirring up the people. Among them 
were John Hancock, Samuel Adams, and Patrick 
Henry. Just now the country was laboring under 
the excitement occasioned by the act of Parliament 
annuling the venerated charter of Massachusettes; 
the people were declared rebels, and the entire 
country was aroused to a deep sense of indignation. 
One felt the poverty of the English language when 
trying to express the “impolicy, inhumanity, and 
cruelty of the acts of Parliament.” Colonel Fair- 
fax was now one of the most hot-headed, and it was 
for the purpose of attending an indignation meeting 
of the House of Burgesses that he was away from 
home at the time of Robert’s death. 


For a time the old gentleman stood as if stricken, 
after Kenton told him of the murder. Just one year 
ago he had buried another beloved boy, and now the 
second, and the last. The family name in his branch 
would pass away now at his death, and he had so 
fondly hoped it would not. Robert was to have 
been his staff in declining years, but the hope was 
54 


irn point ot THonor, 

dead now. He must totter to the brink alone. For 
the past year his life had been like a chess-board; 
the hand of Fate moved Hope, then checkmated it 
with Despair. Kenton gently laid his hand on the 
old man’s arm: 

“Sir,” he said, “your son was called upon to pay 
the last tribute to Nature. The Great Spirit that 
watches over the birds and beasts of the forest, as 
well as rules the hearts of men, saw fit to take him. 
He was a noble boy and perhaps he has gone to a 
nobler purpose. Whether we be from the northland 
or the southland; whether we are from the mountain 
or the vale, the city or the farm; whether we be 
Puritan, or Catholic, or Prostestant; whether we be 
in the valley or on the hill-top of life, there will 
some day come a time when we must all answer to 
the last call of Nature and Nature’s God; and there 
should not be among those who are left behind one 
who would gainsay it. Where will be the leaves of 
yonder forest two months from now? They will 
have fallen one by one. And so, each of us, in his 
turn, must take up the departure to the land of the 
spirits. The Great Spirit gave us this life and, of a 
right, can take it away. An oak once stood where 
you see yonder maple.” 

Kenton’s words had effect on the Colonel, for he 
moved forward, and presently began making prepa- 
ration for a rapid journey homeward. 

“You say he escaped by the river?” the Colonel 
asked, breaking a long silence. 

“Yes, sir, shoved off in Miss Ilma’s boat.” 

“You saw nothing of him as you came down, I 
suppose — nothing of the boat?” 

55 


Ifn point of Honor. 

“Nothing at all, although I kept a close watch on 
both sides.” 

“Gould it have been possible for him to have out- 
distanced you to Richmond?” 

“1 hardly think so, although he had two hours the 
start of me. It is my opinion that he took to the 
land some ten or twenty miles down the river. He 
will hardly show himself in so short a period, and so 
near the scene of his crime.” 

A fresh crew was enlisted and soon the measured 
strokes of their oars could be heard far up and 
down the James, as the men rowed Colonel Fairfax 
and John Kenton rapidly toward home. Instructions 
were given the slaves who had rowed Kenton down 
to follow on by land. The two men sat back in the 
steam of the cutter for some time in silence, the 
Colonel finally breaking the thread of thought so far, 
as to ask: 

“Are you with us on the hunt, John — and re- 
venge?” 

“Sir, I looked on Robert Fairfax as I would upon a 
younger brother,” was John’s answer. It seemed 
to satisfy Colonel Fairfax. 

Just at sundown the boat was beached at the 
landing. The gloom of death hung over the old 
house as they approached it. But why try and pic- 
ture in feeble words the anguish of a mother’s soul 
over the lifeless body of her boy, a father’s grief 
and a sister’s aching heart? It is something that 
cannot be told. It must be felt, it must be endured 
to be understood; and no historian, or novelist, or 
painter, has the power to portray the feeling. 

As was to be expected, the Colonel was for con- 
56 


Hn point of IHonor. 


ducting the funeral services as early as possible the 
next morning in order that no more time might be 
lost in running down the fugitive. When they found 
him — God have mercy on his soul. Of course, the 
Colonel would go and would be the one to strike the 
first blow. To this Kenton objected, however, not 
that he did not want Colonel Fairfax to have revenge, 
but because it would take swift, agil men for this 
undertaking; younger men than the Colonel, and 
possessed of more vigor. He reasoned, and rightly, 
that Sussex had been long enough in this country to 
become familiar with its customs, therefore he would 
lose no time in making good his escape. Two men, 
he thought, could accomplish more than a dozen, 
that would be in each others way, and consequently 
make slow the progress of the chase. He would 
not hear of Colonel Fairfax undertaking such a pur- 
suit, as there was no telling to where it might lead. 
He had known a man, Simon Girty, by name, after 
having committed acts violating the law, to flee be- 
yond the mountains and take up his abode with the 
Indians. 

“Mr. Noll, here, I think will be perfectly willing 
to go with me,” Kenton suggested as they went out 
into the hall. 

“I shall consider it an esteemed favor if Colonel 
Fairfax will but permit me,” Noll eagerly exclaimed. 
“And I shall do all within my power to bring about 
his wishes in the matter.” 

All had stopped and were facing toward the cen- 
ter as Noll said this, and Colonel Fairfax was in the 
act of objecting to being left out, when their atten- 
tion was attracted by the shuffle of feet on the front 
57 


■ffn ipoint of IHonor. 

porch. Looking in that direction, they saw Wauna- 
toncah, grim and tall, standing in the doorway. 
There was an air of deep respect in his bearing, as 
the Indian walked forward and extended his hand to 
the Colonel. 

“Great Hatchet killed a deer in the forest to-day 
and took it to the wigwam of my brother, there,” 
meaning Kenton. “While there I was told of how a 
dog had killed your son, and I have come to tell you 
that the earth is not so broad, the waters are not so 
deep but what I will follow the dog and find him, for 
I am your friend.” 

Kenton instantly saw that here would be a valua- 
ble addition to the party, for he knew that an Indian 
would not give up a chase until all hope was lost. 
Recalling Waunatoncah’s story, he repeated it to 
Colonel Fairfax, who stood listening with a deepen- 
ing conviction of the Indian’s wrong coming over 
him. When the story was finished, he stepped up, 
and grasping the native’s hand, he said: 

“Waunatoncah, you have more cause for revenge, 
perhaps, than I.” Then turning to Noll, he contin- 
ued: “Noll, I place this expedition in the charge of 
you and Kenton. Do what you think best.” 

The next morning at day-break the trio started 
on their search. In the discussion, just before the 
departure, it was revealed that Waunatoncah had 
discovered the deserted camp of a wandering band 
of Wyandots some twenty miles down the river the 
previous day, and in all probability Sussex had so- 
licited their aid, and the Indians, ever ready to help 
the fugitive from justice, had consented. Perhaps 
by this time they were far on the route of escape. 

58 


■ffn point o\ Honor. 

Great Hatchet took the left bank of the river, 
while Noll, after ferrying Kenton across, was to 
keep pace with them in the canoe. While it was al- 
most certain that Sussex had kept to the river, at 
least until he reached the Wyandot camp, yet it 
might have been possible that he took to land sooner 
than was expected. It was therefore necessary 
that they go slow in order to search closely for any 
trail he might leave, and it was noon before Kenton 
came to the deserted Indian camp, spoken of, and a 
halt was called. Waunatoncah was placed across 
and a thorough search was instituted for any sign a 
white man might leave. None was found, however, 
until the Indian resumed his seat in the canoe to be 
rowed across the river again. His quick eye caught 
sight of the print of a boot heel, just in the edge of 
the water and almost obscured by the prow of the 
canoe. Instantly there was suppressed excitement 
among the white men; the Indian appeared as if 
nothing had happened. No womanish excitement 
or childish impatience could disturb the dignity or 
chitanous impassiveness of his face. 

“Evidently he has been here,” said Kenton, “but 
where has he gone?” 

“A proper question,” rejoined Noll. “There is 
but the one mark, and that in the edge of the water. 
It seems ” 

“My brothers wonder why the tracks lead no fur- 
ther,” interrupted the Indian, “I will show them.” 

With a quick motion he drew the light boat from 
the water, and then concealed it in some rushes. 
Returning to his companions, he stood for a moment 
intently examining the tracks made by the Indians 
59 


irn point of IKonor. 

around where the boat had landed, and then taking 
up one he followed it for a short distance out into 
the woods until he came to a tree that had recently 
fallen. To the immense surprise of Noll he drew 
llma’s boat from the bushy top. 

“ ’Twas done with Indian cunning,” said Kenton, 
chuckling silently, yet with vast satisfaction. “No 
other race under the sun could have detected a dif- 
ference in those tracks.” 

Noll was yet incredulous. 

“You think then that Sussex is with those In- 
dians?” he asked. 

“Certain of it! Certain of it!” Kenton answered. 

“Why is it then that we see only the one track?” 

It was easy enough explained. The rain, which 
had fallen the night before, had caused the river to 
rise and the other boot tracks had been covered. 
An Indian had noticed the tracks at this point, and 
his cunning had suggested the change to moccasins. 
After this explanation Noll asked no more questions 
and implicitly followed directions. 

Eating a hasty lunch, the three started upon the 
trail. It was soon seen that the Wyandots antici- 
pated pursuit, for they took every precaution to ob • 
literate their tracks. They might have succeeded 
had the white men been alone, although Kenton was 
skilled in woodcraft and the customs of the Indians, 
but it was impossible to conceal the faint, unerring 
signs from the keen eye of Waunatoncah. He 
pushed forward upon that trail like a wolf, with un- 
erring scent, tracks the wounded deer. After sev- 
eral miles, though, the signs became much plainer; 
so much so, that even Noll could distinguish them. 

60 


Hn point of THonor. 


“What think you, Great Hatchet, I make seven- 
teen,” said the hunter. 

“My brother sees right; there are seventeen, 
counting the pale face.” 

When the night settled over the great wilderness 
they had traveled fifty miles; and that in the face 
of the fact that they had had to slacken their pace 
several times in coming down the river, in order to 
look closely for any trail Sussex might have left. 
It was useless to go on farther when, with all Wau- 
natoncah’s skill, they could not have prevented 
themselves becoming lost from the trail, so a halt 
was called for the night. 

At the first faint touch of morn the Indian was 
astir, and soon the three were on the march again. 
For hours they kept swiftly, steadily forward, the 
red skin always in the lead. Aided by such marks 
as only the sagacity of an Indian could trace, he 
held his way straight ahead, through fertile vales, 
across branches and riverlets, and over rolling hills 
with an accuracy that was almost like instinct. He 
never seemed to tire, but with head bent immovably 
forward, and his eyes fastened on the grass and 
dead leaves over which they trod, he glided swiftly 
onward, a solitary eagle’s feather floating out be- 
hind from his crest. Whether the trail was hardly 
distinguishable, or disappeared altogether from the 
eye of the white men, seemed to make no percepta- 
ble difference to him. Only once did he stop, and 
that was caused by the bounding forward of a 
startled fawn, which circled and crossed the path. 
The lightning flash is not more quick than the flame 
that leaped from Kenton’s rifle. One terrific bound, 
61 


•ffn ipolnt of IHonor. 

and the fawn fell lifeless. “’Twas the act of a 
boy,” remonstrated the Indian. “Would my brother 
prepare a feast for those dogs, the Wyandots, to 
eat?” 

“Waunatoncah has great wisdom, I acknowledge 
the rebuke,” admitted Kenton. “But the instinct 
of the hunter is strong, and I believe I would have 
fired that shot though every red demon in the forest 
was lurking within the sound My, but that was a 
pretty shot!” 

“My brother is yet young; he must go drink from 
the fountain of wisdom visited by his father. But 
Waunatoncah is with him, and ’tis enough. Although 
the Wyandots number more than the fingers on my 
hands, yet they shall be driven like deer from the 
bushes. Their women shall weep and their wailings 
shall mingle with the wailings of children whose 
fathers shall not return. My brothers, let us cut 
from the legs of the red deer that we may have 
meat tomorrow.” 

Suiting the action to the words, he passed swiftly 
to the back of the fawn and drove his knife to its 
heart. Then with the skill of an expert he passed 
the knife from the flank to the backbone, and in an- 
other instant he had completely severed the two 
hind quarters. Next he unjointed the lower limbs 
and passed a prisoner’s string through each hock. 
He was in the act of slinging the venison across 
his shoulders, when he stopped as if turned to stone. 

“Hugh!” he exclaimed, quickly facing forward, 
like a hound that had scented the stag. The hunter 
instantly assumed the same stone -like posture, each 
bent forward in a listening attitude. 

62 


■ffn point 0^ IKonor. 

“What hear you, Waunatoncah? To my ears no 
strange sound approaches.” 

“I hear the sound of feet;” and the Indian bent 
forward until his head was within a foot of the 
ground. 

“Great God, the red devils heard the crack of my 

rifle Noll, behind yonder log, and do not even 

show the whites of your eyes until I tell you!” 

“No,” said the chief, “it is not red men, but pale 
faces.” 

“How many?” 

The savage listened for another moment before 
replying. 

“One,” he answered, “and he is coming this way.” 

“Od’s blood!” exclaimed Noll, “most wonderful !” 

“I had thought that there was no man living who 
could hear and understand the sounds of the forest 
better than I,” Kenton rejoined. 

By this time the cracking of sticks could be plain- 
ly heard, and presently a man came into view, mak- 
ing long, powerful strides. He approached our 
friends like a man sure of a friendly welcome. 

63 


CHAPTER VIIL 


A CLEARING IN THE WILDERNESS. 



ET US pause for a moment to examine the 
man who has just approached our friends. 
He was dressed very much like Kenton; 
wearing a smock-frock picturesque hunt- 
ing shirt, with the colors of the forest: his cap was 
of the skin of a beaver, while his legs were encased 
in a pair of buck-skin leggins, which laced up the 
side with a wide thong of the sinews of the deer, 
fringed from where they were tied. On his feet he 
wore a pair of moccasins, gayly ornamented after 
the manner of the Indians. That part of his body 
which was exposed showed muscles that laid about 
in cords, while his keen, black eye was constantly 
roving about as if expecting the approach of an en- 
emy. His face, from what part could be seen from 
the soot and sunburn, denoted honesty and steadfast 
purpose — a pioneer. A knife handle was visible in 
his girdle of wampun, and a horn and coon-skin 
pouch hung under his right arm, while resting in his 
arm-pit was a rifle of great length. 

“I heard the crack of your rifle,” he said, “and 
knew by the sound that it was a white man’s. I 
thought, maybe, it might be some of my friends.” 

“Are there white men out here among the beasts 
and dangers of this wilderness?” asked Noll, in un- 
feigned surprise. 

“Even so,” answered the stranger. “We came 
out here to escape the tyranny of England, and the 
64 



Hn ffjoint of lionot* 

tax collector, only to meet death and destruction at 
the hands of the savages.” 

“Whither bound, my friend, and how is it that you 
are in such a plight?” asked Kenton. 

“Follow me, and I will show you,” he answered, 
and turned and rapidly led the way along the trail. 

Soon they came to a little clearing and the sight 
that met their eyes was harrowing. The little cabin 
in the center was a mass of smoking ruins, and sev- 
eral charred bones could be seen lying about in the 
ashes. After silently looking at this scene for some 
time, the stranger beckoned the others to follow, 
and leading the way along a well beaten path, they 
soon arrived in front of another cabin in the outskirts 
of the woods, and on the bank of a spring branch. 
On arriving, the stranger told his story: 

“About four years ago the old man and the old lady 
whose bones you saw yonder in those ashes, came 
out here and commenced the clearing up of this 
spot. The man had not been doing so well, and the 
taxes were galling, so he decided on moving farther 
west. I tried to dissuade him, but he was stubborn. 
He had a young daughter whom he had promised 
me for a wife when she became of age, so when they 
left, I followed. I helped to build his cabin, clear 
enough land to plant some late corn, and then I put 
up this cabin for myself. By this time winter came 
on and I spent it very profitably hunting and trap- 
ping — the old man assisting me occasionally. It 
lacked only two months until I could claim my bride. 
Yesterday morning I was sitting in the door here, 
smoking and watching my sweetheart as she went 
to yonder spring for some water. I was thinking of 
65 


Ifn iPoint of IHoiior. 

the happiness that should soon be mine, and for 
which I had so long waited. Suddenly, as I sat 
there watching her, there arose on the air such a 
tumult of unearthly yells and shrieks as almost 
made the blood curdle in my veins. It seemed for 
a moment that the demons of hell had possessed 
themselves of these woods and found a savage hu- 
mor in exercising their lungs. I knew what those 
sounds meant, but the shock paralized me for a mo- 
ment, and I sat there unable to move. Then I saw 
a dozen hellishly painted demons rush from the for- 
est to where that cabin stood, yonder, and sink their 
tomahawks to the brain of two helpless, old people. 
The sight sent the stagnant blood back into the 
fountains of my heart, and I sprang for my rifle. 
Too late! Looking through yonder window I saw 
that my sweetheart was being bound, and that the 
other cabin was being set on fire. The instinct of 
life is strong in every heart, if it be not unnatural, 
and I realized that it would be rushing to certain 
death to attempt succor just then, so I began looking 
about for some way of escape. The front door was 
blocked off, and, on slipping to the opening in the 
shed, I saw a white ma^ and an Indian standing un- 
der that tree — the oak just inside the clearing. No 
other way presenting itself, I crawled up the chim- 
ney. I had barely drawn my feet up when an Indian 
entered the house. I thought several times that 
my time had come, as I heard them talking and 
shuffling around close to the fire-place. As you can 
see, they ransacked everything in the house and it 
is a thousand wonders they did not set fire to it. 
Their hellish work over, they left, and in a few min- 
66 


ITn point of IHonor. 

utes I descended and hurriedly followed after them. 
I remember of having some wild hope of being in 
some way able to rescue my sweetheart as I rushed 
along. Fortunately, though, action brought back 
my scattered senses, so I soon commenced following 
more cautiously. Last night I lay watching their 
camp fire all night long in the hope that the guard 
would go to sleep. But contrary to my earnest de- 
sire, as fast as one would lie down another would 
take his place. Long before morning came I felt the 
uselessness of attempting a rescue all alone, so was 
returning for help when I heard the report of your 
gun.” 

A silence of a minute followed the stranger’s 
story. The white men exchanged glances of horror, 
but the Indian’s face remained calm. After suffi- 
cient pause, he lifted his voice: 

“The dogs, th# Wyandots, fight only old men and 
women. When a warrior appears on the warpath 
they hide in the bushes like cowards.” 

“Friend,” said Kenton, “you should thank heaven 
that the hairs on your head are still fixed where na- 
ture rooted them, and are not dangling from the belt 
of one of those Imps of Satan. We are with you, 
my friend, and you can rest easy that everything that 
a cool head, a strong arm, and a quick eye can do, will 
be done. We’ve got a grudge against those Indians 
and are hot after that white man, and if mortal eye 
can follow their trail we’ll follow them to the ends 
of the earth or else find your lady.” 

“Good!” said the Indian. “Not so broad the earth 
is, not so deep its waters, but what the Great 
Hatchet will follow them, and hurl himself in their 
67 


Ifn |5olnt of Bonor. 

midst, and strike; and their children shall cry for 
meat and never see the graves of their fathers.” 

A slight motion from Kenton’s hand, and the In- 
dian turned, and then the four went swinging 
through the forest. Silently, noiselessly they trod, 
grim determination depicted upon every face; trav- 
eling in single file, Waunatoncah leading and Noll 
in the rear. As they traveled Noll could see the 
dark form of the savage glancing in and out among 
the trunks of the trees, the eagle feather fluttering 
out behind in a current of air made solely by the 
swiftness of motion — a banner, it seemed to Noll, 
the which the others were to follow. 

Just at sundown they came to where the Wyan- 
dots had camped the night previously, and as some 
of the coals of the camp fire were yet alive, they 
soon had a blaze, and a meal of broiled venison was 
partaken. As the sombre shades of night settled 
over the wilderness. Great Hatchet wrapped himself 
in his blanket, and stretching out full length with 
his feet to the fire, he was soon fast asleep. The 
white men however, were not just ready to lie down 
yet, so they took up positions just out from the cir- 
cle of light, each apparently communing with him- 
self. Kenton lay stretched out with his back to a 
log, his eyes following the rings of tobacco smoke 
as they curled up from his carved stone pipe. Noll 
seated himself, a short distance away, in the same 
position, fixing his gaze upon the heavens as re- 
flected through the tree-tops; and the stranger was 
only a short distance from Noll, both elbows resting 
on his knees and his chin in his hands. Noll was 
the first to break the silence which had perhaps held 
68 


tn ipoint of THonot. 

them for half an hour; his words, though, were more 
of a soliloquy than an address: 

“Man must commune with nature in the solitude 
of the forest to have a proper appreciation of the 
Infinite,” he said. “Particularly in this period when 
there are such transformations of ideals and creeds, 
if a man would have the spirit of reverence enter 
his soul; if he would feel that fine reverence which 
is directly active over the whole mental and moral 
being — a true worship — he must plunge deep within 
the silence of the woods, away from the haunts of 
man.” 

Kenton smoked on, seemingly paying no attention 
to his companion. After a few moments, Noll con- 
tinued; he spoke this time just as though answering 
a question he had asked himself. 

“No — , in the habitudes of men every formulated 
fantasy of the brain is in vogue. There seems to be 
no stable and true religion; yet religion is the unit in 
man’s life. From the cradle to the grave it wraps 
him in its vast folds. Back through the long, long 
cycles of the world there has been no record made 
of where it has been obliterated from his nature.’^ 
(Another pause.) “No — , books have not made it 
so, for man made the books. Destroy all the influ- 
ence of all the creeds; blot out of existence all the 
books pertaining to them, and man would yet be re- 
ligious, for he is inherently so. Place him in the 
heart of a primal forest and he is doubly so, for look 
where he may, he sees the perfect order of creation, 
and must pause in that awe, akin to reverence, of 
the Infinite power that gives it its being.” 

Kenton was at last aroused. Noll’s words had 
69 


ITn point of Honor. 

touched a chord in his nature. Taking his pipe from 
his mouth he turned to Noll and spoke: 

“I am not much tutored in the ways of the schol- 
ar,” he began, “but I think I get the jist of what you 
are talking about. I can count upon the fingers of 
my hands the times I have entered the meeting 
house at home, but I think I have feelings at times 
to which the most devout of the^ ‘Lord’s annointed’ 
are strangers. I have traveled from the land of the 
snow and shadows, Mr. Noll, to the land of the sun- 
shine and flowers; I have traced the signs of the 
forest from the salt sea water to the soft sweet 
water of the big river that flows toward the summer. 
No books were mine in those wanderings; but I read 
a language in the stars. The murmur of the brook 
was sweetest music to me. Often have I paused 
to watch the soaring of an eagle in the heavens, and 
thrilled at the note of a mocking-bird, until my heart 
almost burst with its spirit of rapture and rever- 
ence.” 

Both men lapsed into silence again, mastered by 
the spirit of their own emotions. Darkness closed 
in and the inhabitants of the night took up their 
rambles. An owl, attracted by the fire light, flut- 
tered close over head. A rabbit hopped just inside 
the shadows, blinked his eyes, and then scampered 
away. The minds of both Noll and Kenton were 
dwelling upon those temples built in the fancies of 
men, to whom life seemeth good, and which the soul 
so eagerly devours — knowing that they rapidly pass. 
As they sat there, a cry half-human, half-animal, 
arose on the air, not only penetrating the recesses 
of the forest, but the hearts that heard it. It was 
70 


tn point o\ Honor. 

followed by a stillness, seemingly as deep, as if the 
progress of the worlds had halted at such a blood- 
curdling interruption. 

“My God!” exclaimed Noll, “was not that the 
scream of a woman in mortal agony?” 

Kenton, who in truth had felt the shock of the 
scream, though often having heard such before, now 
sat silently chuckling at Noll’s apparent discomfi- 
ture. 

“The panthers are out early to-night,” he said. 
“Perhaps they have caught the scent of our venison 
and ” 

He paused, for the hoot of an owl in an opposite 
direction caught his ear. Waunatoncah lifted him- 
self upon his elbow, his hand going behind his ear as 
though to assist his hearing, while his quick and 
rapid glances ran constantly over every object with- 
in the range of his vision. Just then the cry of a 
loon, badly uttered, came from another quarter. 
The Indian sank down as if lifeless, and even while 
Noll was watching him he commenced worming 
himself from out the circle of light. 

“Follow me!” the voice of the stranger whispered 
in Noll’s ear. 

“Why all this mystery?” he thought, as he silently 
followed the stranger deeper into the darkness. 
He had hardly framed the thought before his ears 
were pierced by such a tumult of yells and cries as 
he had never heard before. Turning his head, he 
saw a dozen dusky forms leap within the light of 
the fire. 71 


CHAPTER IX, 


BAFFLED BY A PAIR OF BOOTS, 


jj J USHING hither and thither, yelling all the 

■ ■ y while, the Indians were more like phan- 
toms of death than human beings. Fi- 
nally they all gathered around the fire 
as though to hold a council of war. When they 
were all seated and the pipe had passed around, one 
arose, and by his jestures, our friends knew he was 
addressing the crowd. When he had finished his 
short talk, they all jumped to their feet, and anoth- 
er yell rent the air, but it was different from the 
others, and had more the sound of disappointment. 
Turning, they all left the scene, striking to the 
southward. 

“The Seminoles are a nation of lazy women and 
know not the sounds of the forest,” said the chief. 

“They are a set of fools if they think we know not 
the call of a loon from the voice of a squaking jay,’"^ 
rejoined Kenton. 

“Are they not the Indians for whom we are look- 
ing?” asked Noll. 

“No, they are only a party of marauding reptiles 
returning from the hunt, or hanging upon the out- 
skirts of the settlements, where they occasionally 
slay and scalp some venturing spirit that goes too 
far into the woods. They saw our camp fire, and 
thinking it probably some hunter, decided to scalp 
him and then go home and boast of the valiant deeds 
72 


fln point of THonor. 

they did against the white man and on the war path. 
Your skulking Indian is an inveterate boaster,” an- 
swered Kenton. 

The soft gutteral tones of the Sachem were next 
heard: 

“The Seminoles are a nation of singing birds,” he 
said. “They try to slip upon the sleeping panther, 
but the panther is swift and strong and leaps from 
them.” 

After delivering himself of this broad metaphore, 
the Indian deliberately wrapped his blanket about 
him again and stretched himself under a spreading 
tree. Kenton and the stranger did likewise, and 
Noll was left to no other recourse. Only a few 
faint orbs were twinkling in the heaven the next 
morning when they resumed their journey. 

“At this rate we will catch them some time to- 
day, won’t we?” the stranger asked when they were 
well under way. 

Waunatoncah stopped, made a broad sweep of 
his hand from east to west, then resumed his pace. 
The squatter knew the jesture to mean they would 
come up with them at sun down. They had not 
gone much farther, however, when an exclamation 
from Noll caused another halt. Going back to 
where he was they saw him stooping over a place 
where the stranger’s moccasin had brushed the 
leaves away. 

“Ah, the murdering devil has again put on his 
boots, has he!” exclaimed Kenton. “His tender feet 
were too delicate to stand the roughness of travel 
in moccasins. Before the sinking of tomorrow’s 
sun those boots will drag his soul to perdition, or 
73 


■ffn point of Honor. 

I’m no prophet, and my hand has lost its cunning’*^ 

Waunatoncah looked approvingly at Noll: “Good!’' 
he said, “my brother has good eyes; will be a great 
chief in his nation some day.” 

“How can I help becoming a close observer when 
I have the pride of the Massawomekes as a leader,” 
Noll answered, fixing an approving eye also upon 
the red skin. 

They had perhaps traveled a mile farther when 
it was discovered that the trail divided; eight of the 
pursued party keeping directly westward, while the 
others turned to the north. A consultation was had 
and then a thorough examination of the tracks. It 
was evident, by the boot marks, that Sussex was 
with the north bound party; and a closer search re- 
vealed the foot prints of the girl also. 

“I knew it! I knew he would do it!” Kenton ex- 
claimed. “The hound has turned north and hopes 
to join the English army, where he thinks he will be 
safe. ’Twas but in reason.” 

“ ’Tis fortunate that both those we seek are in 
the same party,” said the stranger. 

“Uncommon lucky I call it,” returned Kenton. “I 
guess that Englishman has set his eyes on your girl, 
friend, or else those Indians would have taken her 
to the wigwams of their nation.” 

At sun down they came to the bank of a lake, and 
on the opposite side, no more than a mile across, 
they could see the gleam of a camp fire. For some 
time they all stood looking out across the water at 
the distant light, speculating as to the nearest route 
around to the other shore. As it would never do to 
wait until the next morning, the Indian had turned t^ 


tn point of Honor. 

take up the long tramp around the lake when the 
stranger halted him. 

“Wait a minute,” he said. “This is certainly the 
lake I trapped on two winters ago. I can tell by 
yonder dead cypress that used to be my guide when 
I would come in late at night. If I am not the worst 
fooled man in the world, there is hid about here, 
somewhere close, a birch bark canoe. It seems to 
me that it is farther to the east of us.” 

Sure enough, after hunting around for some time, 
the stranger pulled from its hiding place, an Indian 
canoe. It was damp and mouldy, but answered the 
purpose, and soon the little party had paddled across 
the lake. They landed about a mile below the other 
party, and then made a stealthy march to their place 
of encampment. A few minutes spent in reconnois- 
sance, enabled them to locate each member of the 
pursued, including the girl — and the pair of boots. 

The sight of his sweetheart drove the hot blood 
like lava to the brain of the stranger, and he insisted 
on striking the marauders at once. Waunatoncah, 
too, felt the presence of his mortal enemy, as could 
be told by the tightening of the muscles around the 
mouth, and the nervous clutching of his tomahawk. 
But he and Kenton had seen terrific encounters be- 
fore and knew that this was not the hour to strike. 

“We want to get the last screeching imp of ’em,” 
explained Kenton, “or else they will double on our 
track and give us trouble. The hour of daybreak is 
the time and not ’til then. We might drop four of 
them now, but the others would bound into the for- 
est and get away; and as its an Indian’s nature to 
spill blood for blood, if he doesn’t get circumvented, 
75 


Ifn ipolnt of 1Honor« 

we’d be the hunted ones as well as the hunters.” 

As there was every sense of reason in his state- 
ment, Kenton’s companions had no other choice but 
to obey. Then they took up the long, weary watch 
of the night, made all the more lengthy by their 
watching. Noll sat, alternately tingling with ex- 
citement and nodding with drowsiness. All sorts 
of fantasies chased each other through his brain. 
Now he was back in boyhood hours — that sweet pe- 
riod of our day dreams. Then the flicker of the 
flames of the Wyandot’s camp fire would remind 
him of the times he had often watched the desert 
fires, around which the Mussulmen, bearded and 
dark visaged, would sit and smoke. And then his 
restless thought would go climbing the star-sloped 
stairs of space, and he would wonder and yearn to 
know what was behind the curtain of the vast blue. 

Your red skin is an early riser when on the march, 
and as soon as the sun began to shed a soft light in 
the east, four of the Wyandots were astir to pre- 
pare the morning meal. A council of war was held 
by our friends, and it was agreed that they should 
spread out so as to guard every avenue of escape. 
Noll and the stranger were in the center, and the 
Sachem and Kenton took up their positions near the 
lake with the camp between them. Kenton had di- 
rected each of his companions to take sure aim, and 
pointed out the man each was to shoot. It was 
agreed that Sussex was to be left to the mercy of 
Waunatoncah, whatever that might be. The cry of 
a jay was to be the signal to fire, and all were to re- 
load as rapidly as possible without exposing their 
strength to the enemy. 

re 


II n ipotnt of THonor. 

They fired almost simultaneously, and each made 
a successful shot. The remaining five Wyandots 
• leaped to their feet and made a dash for the woods 
in the direction of Kenton, where they were soon 
hid. Waunatoncah bounded from his hiding place, 
and rushing forward, prostrated himself behind one 
of the canoes that the Wyandots had dragged from 
the water. An anxious moment then followed. 
Noll, the stranger, and Great Hatchet were each 
trying to locate a man, when the crack of Kenton’s 
rifle again echoed through the forest. An Indian 
uttered a piercing yell, jumped into the air and fell 
headlong. But the sound of the rifle had directed 
the others to at least one of their adversaries, so 
with the spring of panthers, the other four darted 
toward Kenton with up-lifted tomahawks and blood- 
curdling yells. Three more shots rang out and an- 
other Wyandot was brought to the ground, mortally 
wounded. 

Kenton saw the danger he was in, so springing to 
his feet, he bounded off like a deer, with the remain- 
ing three swift after him. The squatter rushed to 
the release of his sweetheart; Noll stood irresolute; 
but Great Hatchet, uttering the fierce yell of the 
Massawomekes, sprang forward to the assistance of 
his friend. The chase was a terrific one, every 
power of the participants being brought into play. 
Kenton, who had practiced the art of reloading his 
rifle while on a dead run, suddenly wheeled and shot 
the nearest of his pursuers through the head. The 
others halted in surprise, for they had no other 
thought but what his rifle was unloaded. Their 
momentary pause gave Great Hatchet time to come 
11 


Ifn ipofnt of IHonor. 

up and he closed headlong with one of the remain- 
ing. Each avoiding the quickly hurled hatchets, the 
men of the wilderness grappled as if by common 
consent. 

The other savage seeing his companion engaged, 
uttered a fiendish yell and rushed toward the now 
practically unarmed white man. Again Kenton 
dashed off at the top of his speed, the Indian close 
behind him. He darted from one side to the other 
to avoid the fatal throw of the uplifted tomahawk, 
and so great were his exertions that he could find 
no time to reload as he ran. After running perhaps 
a hundred yards, intuition told Kenton that his ene- 
my was getting ready to hurl the hatchet. He 
dropped upon one knee just in time, for the handle 
of the murderous implement of death brushed his 
hair as it passed. Hastily turning his body, Kenton 
braced himself for the coming shock, at the same 
time thrusting forward the muzzle of his long rifle. 
So great was the headlong velocity of the Indian 
that he had no power to check himself, and doubled 
all up with the muzzle of the rifle midway in his 
stomach. The force of such a contact was enough 
to have eventually caused the death of the red-skin, 
but to make doubly sure, Kenton crushed in the 
skull of his writhing foe with the heavy butte of his 
gun. Then he rushed back to where Waunatoncah 
had engaged the other Indian. 

The swift passage of a strong wind could not 
have caused the leaves and leave-dust to be more 
tossed and troubled than did those fierce combat- 
ants. As Kenton came up Noll appeared on the 
other side. A combat upon such unequal footings 
78 


tn point 0^ IHonor. 

could not last long. Getting an opportunity, Kenton 
again effectually used the butte of his gun, bringing 
it down on the unprotected head of the Wyandot, 
whose tense muscles seemed to wither under the 
force of the awful blow as he fell back limp and 
lifeless. Great Hatchet leaped to his feet and made 
the forest fairly ring with the voice of the con- 
queror. 

“Victory for the right! Death to the murderers!” 
shouted Kenton, swinging his rifle over his head. 
“No quarter to the accursed thief is my ” 

He stopped as if stricken by the hand of Deity, 
his eyes riveted upon the feet of the fallen Indian. 
Noll and Great Hatchet followed the direction of 
his gaze and saw — a pair of English boots. 

The battle was like the passage of a whirlwind, 
and so fierce and rapid had it been that our combat- 
ants had lost sight of the object of their pursuit. 
The sight of Sussex’s boots on the feet of the fallen 
Indian forcibly reminded them of it, at the same time 
bringing upon them the startling truth that they had 
been baffled. 

“ ’Twas like him, the murdering, lying, cheating, 
cowardly varmint!” muttered Kenton. “An honest 
and a brave man would never have loaded the spirit 
of a poor Indian down with a pair of boots just as he 
was about to make the journey to the Happy Hunt- 
ing Grounds!” 

For once the stoicism of Waunatoncah was shaken. 
So great was his chagrin that he walked back to 
where the stranger and his sweetheart were, even 
denying himself the custom of his race — that of 
scalping the slain. Noll and Kenton followed him 
79 


■ffn ipofnt 0^ ‘Jionor. 

him back, and all sat in silence while the girl pre- 
pared the morning meal. There was no need to 
comment, and no excuse, but fate, presented itself 
for their failure. Bitter disappointment filled each 
heart — the lovers excepted — consequently a very 
scanty meal was partaken. 

“ ’Twas the hand of that Destiny that says, ‘Ven- 
geance is mine,” ’ said Noll, as he slowly masticated 
a piece of broiled venison. 

‘‘And they will be three days the start of us be- 
fore we can strike their trail again,” mused Kenton, 
‘‘and a cold track means a slow chase. Even when 
we do strike it again, it is only a day’s journey to 
the mountains, and you might as well try to shut 
out the glare of a candle light by striking a piece of 
flint and steel together as to hunt for a skulking In- 
dian in the recesses of those mountains.” 

An Indian may be vulnerable to the feelings of 
disappointment, but he rarely shows it, and never 
abandons a pursuit, especially where the motives 
prompting that pursuit are deep-seated and based 
upon revenge. Great Hatchet now set about the 
retracing of his steps and again taking up the trail 
of Sussex, with a pertenacity that would have done 
credit to a blood hound. That night found the party 
camped where the main trail had divided, and the 
next morning at day-break the Indian was up and 
ready to resume the march. 

“Mist — er— Mist — by what name do you hail, 
stranger?” 

“Wilkins, sir, Silas Wilkins.” 

“Well, Mr. Wilkins, I suppose our paths separate 
here. You will take your lady toward the rising 
80 


In ftolnt 0^ IHonoT. 

sun, while we will sleep with him in yonder moun- 
tains. Know you where you will take up your 
abode, my friend?” 

“1 have not yet decided, but there is one thing of 
which I am certain — Betty and I have had enough 
of the wilderness.” 

“I suppose it is but natural for one of your ways 
to say that, but as for me” — Kenton mused awhile, 
"‘From my earliest recollections I have had an un- 
restrained love for the forest, and I guess that I will 
be sort-o-like that fellow, Moses, the preacher told 
us about the last time 1 was at meeting — my flesh 
will rot and my bones will bleach somewhere in the 
wilderness, and there will be no stone to mark my last 
resting place. But, as I was going to tell you, if you 
have no other place to go and will take the advice 
of one who knows, just follow this trail back until 
you strike the James. There, to the left of you, 
you will find two canoes hid in some rushes. Take 
one of them and paddle you and your lady up the 
river about twenty miles until you come to the plan- 
tation of Cecil Fairfax. Tell the old grey-headed, 
dignified man that John Kenton sent you and you 
will not only find welcome, but a home as well.” 

“Thank you, sir, not only for your advice, but for 
what you and your friends, here, have done for me.” 

“It was not anything but what other men, that 
had a spark of manhood in their carcasses, would 
have done. You can further tell Colonel Fairfax 
that you left us upon the trail, and that it led toward 
the mountains.” 

“Tell my snow-haired father that the Great 
Hatchet is upon their track; ’tis enough.” 

81 


CHAPTER X. 


UNDER THE SHADOW OF A MOUNTAIN. 

m IGHT came; it found Noll, Kenton and 
Waunatoncah encamped under the 
shadow of a mountain. Reader, were 
you ever encamped under the shadow 
of a mountain? Then you have felt that you were 
close to the great throbbing heart of Nature. Have 
you ever listened to the music of the brooks as they 
swished and gurgled down the mountain side? Then 
you have heard the melody of majesty encompassed 
within Nature’s bosom. Have you ever stood upon 
the mountain side and watched the stars come out 
one by one; and then paused in wrapt attention while 
the moon arose in her glory and spread a silvery man- 
tle over the world? Did you ever climb to the moun- 
tain top and while there see the spirit of the storm 
cover the world below in darkness and gloom? Did 
you ever hear the grand organs of Nature, touched 
by the hands of Deity, peal forth in notes of thunder 
until the craigs echoed and re-echoed in awful vol- 
ume? And did you ever see the lightning run its 
forked tongue along the mountain tops for a thous- 
and miles, swift as the eye can flash? If so, then 
you have some faint, glimmering conception of the 
Power that holds in motion the worlds. 

A little babbling brook ran just below where Ken- 
ton had pitched camp. Its limpid waters joined 
those of the James, which stretched away into the 
distance like a silver thread. The party had hastily 
82 


ipoint o\ IHonor. 

constructed a temporary shed to protect them from 
the chill and falling dew. This done, they threw 
themselves on the ground until each saw fit to sleep. 
They had not been in this position long, when Ken- 
ton, turning to Noll, asked: 

“Noll, did you ever hear of how the Indians ac- 
count for the presence of the stars?” 

“No, tell me how it is.” 

“I’m not much on telling stories, and especially 
repeating Indiaji legends, but it runs something like 
this:” 

THE ORIGIN OF THE STARS. 

In the beginning the Great Spirit made the world; 
made the forests to hunt in and the streams to fish 
in. Then He made the elk, the deer, and the bison, 
and all other animals, birds and fishes. Last He 
made the Indian and placed him ruler over all. But 
the Indian complained to the Great Spirit that he 
had no time to dress and cook his meat, so numer- 
ous was the game and so eager was he for the 
chase The Great Spirit then called His four sons 
together, and they smoked the peace pipe and held 
a council. It was agreed at that meeting that they 
make woman. 

They made her with the softness of the wild 
flower, the sweetness of the wild bee’s honey, the 
jealousy of the panther, yet possessing the timidness 
of the fawn. She was light of weight and her 
strength lay in her tongue. Very beautiful they 
made her; so beautiful, in fact, that each of the four 
brothers fell in love with her and wanted her for his 
own squaw. 

Then there arose a great tumult in the wigwam 
of the Great Spirit, and long and furious the four 
brothers battled for the possession of the woman. 
But the Great Spirit had made her for the Indian, 
whom He greatly loved, and while they fought He 
83 


irn ipoint of IHonor. 

placed her on earth. Great was the disappointment 
when the brothers found this out, but the Mighty 
shamed them for their wickedness, and then there 
was peace in the sky. But the brothers often 
looked down and saw the woman, and soon a mighty 
desire to possess her, again filled each of their 
hearts. Separately they sought the Father, and 
with beseechings, begged Him to place them on 
earth; each not knowing that the other had counciled 
with the Great Spirit. 

Now the Great Spirit has a big ear, and loves His 
children. If a word starts to fall to the ground He 
is swift, and catches it. So when they asked, He 
decided to grant their wishes. The fiercest He 
made the North wind; the lazziest He made the 
South wind; the handsomest He made the East 
wind to usher in the morn; while the somberest. 
most silent and melancholy He made the West wind 
to bring out the shades of night. 

No sooner were the brothers on earth than they 
began to battle again for the woman. The South 
wind came and brought the flowers, but the East 
wind, becoming jealous, brought the sun and wilted 
them. Then the West wind came, and shedding the 
dew upon the petals, he revived them and stole their 
perfume and wafted it to the nostrils of the woman. 
But the North wind had been watching, and controll- 
ing his passion no longer, he shook his hoary ringlets 
and came from the land of the winter. For many 
years the battle waged, until the snow began to 
freeze in the hair of the man and the woman. Then 
the Great Spirit returned from a journey of many 
summers, and seeing the battle which His sons 
were waging. He became very angry. So He sent 
Death into the world to settle the dispute. Death 
caused a deep sleep to fall upon the Indian and His 
squaw, and the Mighty took their spirits to a better 
and happier hunting ground. Since then all good 
Indians build a fire just before entering the Happy 
84 


Ifn of THonoT. 

Hunting Ground, in order to light some friend or 
relative on the way, and each star represents the 
fire some departed Indian has kindled. 

A low rumbling sound in the northwest inter- 
rupted a further conversation. Dark, ominous look- 
ing clouds were rapidly spreading along the moun- 
tain side, and upon seeing them each one fell to 
cutting more boughs in order to make the shelter 
more water-proof. Spreading one of the blankets 
they had secured from the slain Wyandots over it, 
they crawled under to await the action of the ele- 
ments. The rain was sudden, short and fierce, and 
although lasting but a few minutes it was sufficient 
to thoroughly drench the ground. 

“It’s my opinion that this cloud struck the other 
side of yonder chain of mountains, and then traveled 
up it until it struck this chain, consequently 
swerving it to the southeast. If it did, only a nose, 
and that nose belonging to a blood-hound, can follow 
the trail in the morning,” said Kenton, 

In order to more thoroughly understand Kenton’s 
meaning a topography of the country should be giv- 
en. They had passed through one defile and had 
camped on the western side of a small mountain 
chain, which ran directly north and south for a few 
miles, then making a graceful curve to the north- 
west. Another chain, just in front of them, ran a 
little east of north, and almost butted into the curve. 
It was Kenton’s opinion that the cloud had original- 
ly started from the southwest, following the latter 
chain up until it struck the curve, where it changed 
its course, coming from the northwest when first 
observed. This was directly on the course of the 
85 


fn ipoint of IHonor. 

trail, consequently causing Kenton some worry. 

“A hound that could follow a trail three days old, 
and that after such a driving rain as we have just 
had, would be worth his weight in gold,” observed 
Noll, to Kenton’s remark. 

“■Quite right, my friend, quite right.” 

“Do you have any idea as to the extent of the 
country on the other side of these mountains?” 

“The forest is as boundless as the waters of the 
sea. There is league on top of league through 
whose solemn depth a white man’s foot has never 
trod; and whose echoes have never been awakened 
by the crack of a rifle. I was down at the Clinch 
River settlement last summer, and while there I 
met a fellow by the name of Boone — Daniel Boone, I 
believe. He has been over in that country and says 
that the bison and deer are so countless that they 
shake the earth when they run; and that they scarce- 
ly fear their natural enemy, man. He almost per- 
suaded me to go with him out there on a hunt, and 
I do not know but what I will join the party he is 
getting up to settle in those regions next spring, if 
the old folks are willing, and we ever catch up with 
that scoundrel, Sussex.” 

“Then there are no settlements out there?” 

“None of which I know, this side of the big river. 
All I know of the country is what 1 have heard from 
the Indians. They call it the ‘Dark and bloody 
ground,’ and it seems to be a favorite place where 
they meet and kill each other. I believe the Chero- 
kee Nation claims it. There is a French settlement 
away across over there somewhere called Ven- 
cennes, but I do not know just where — somewhere, 
86 


11 n |^oint of IHonor. 

though, on the other side of the big river.” 

Next morning the journey was resumed, although 
Kenton lacked the enthusiasm that had character- 
ized his actions heretofore. They found that the 
rain had proceeded just as he had apprehended, and 
that it had completely washed out every semblance 
of a sign. After passing around the curve spoken 
of they all halted. Before them stretched the 
boundless forest, and no indication as to which di- 
rection their enemy had taken. 

“I see no use in going farther,” Kenton said. “In 
all probability those Indians will take Sussex to 
their village until winter is over — and only God in 
heaven knows where that villaige is. When spring 
comes they will then likely proceed to Detroit, 
where there is a British garrison. I think the best 
thing to do is to return and appeal to the crown.” 

“Appeal to the crown!” snorted Noll. “You 
might as well appeal to the devil in hell!— they are 
about on a par when it comes to m.eeting out jus- 
tice!” 

Kenton looked at him for some time as though 
expecting an explanation to such an outbreak, but 
getting none, he replied: 

“Well, we can do nothing on such a blind trail, and 
I, for one, am ready to turn back. What do you 
think about it. Great Hatchet?” 

The Indian, who had been a silent listener, though 
at no time a participant in the above conversa- 
tion, gravely turned and faced his companions. He 
deliberately took from his belt of wampun a beauti- 
fully carved stone pipe, which he lighted in a solemn 
manner. After blowing the smoke to the four winds 
87 


•ffn S5o(nt of ‘Monor. 

of heaven, he passed the bowl to Kenton, who, know- 
ing the customs of the Indians, puffed out a cloud of 
smoke, then handed the pipe to Noll. After these 
preleminaries, the Indian spoke as follows: 

“My brother is right. Let him return to the wig- 
wam of my grey-baired father. Let him go weep 
with my father over the grave of the son. Listen! 
The Indian is the child of the forest; the pale-face 
is a child of the wigwam. The big sea has its own 
solemn music; mountains here sing unto mountains 
yonder. The valleys ever have the music of the 
streams. The Indian hears it and loves it. Only the 
silence of winter breaks the songs of the birds of 
summer. Since water was sweet and the meat of 
the bison was good has the Indian known this, and 
my brothers know that their ears drink no lie. Now 
listen! A shadow stands in the wigwam of the 
Great Hatchet. His people are watching it, but 
they have not seen it move. There are dark spots 
on the hearts of Waunatoncah and my snow-haired 
father; they must be washed away with blood. The 
spirits of Onewah and Robert Fairfax are calling 
out that the briers are thick in the paths that lead 
to the blessed grounds of their people. They must 
be cleared away. Does the hunter stop when the 
trail of the trembling deer is lost in the mountains? 
You know that he does not. Now what am I? An 
Indian. The Great Spirit made me a child of the 
forest. An Indian never forgets. Look at nie! 
You see my face. Now look at me! You see my 
back. That shows you that I am your friend, for 
that part of me an enemy has never yet seen. I 
have spoken. I now listen.” 

88 


■ffn point 0^ THonor. 

“Part of what you say is right, red-skin, and part 
is not. No man ever heard of John Kenton becom- 
ing a turn-coat. The v/inter’s snow has no more 
terrors for him than it does for an Indian — although 
there is no denying the fact that a good log fire is 
rather comfortable at times. If I turn back it is be- 
cause I know of a shorter trail, and not that I give 
up the chase. V/hat you say, though, is according 
to your nature, and I will hold nothing against you. 
Neither will I try to persuade you from what you 
have set your heart by, although I think it will take 
all winter to find that trail again, and when you do, 
it will lead to Detroit.” 

Noll offered a word of persuasion to the Indian to 
return with them, but Kenton interrupted him: 

“Friend, it is no use. The home of the red-skin 
is in the brooding forest — he would never consent. I 
know the nature of an Indian, and I know that what 
he does is from a matter of conscience. Great 
Hatchet has sworn to absent himself from his peo- 
ple until the stigma upon his name is wiped away in 
blood; and he will never give up, as long as he has a 
possible chance of finding Sussex.” Then turning 
to the Indian, Kenton continued: “It is well. Great 
Hatchet is a mighty chief. He is a beaver in coun- 
cil and a leaping panther in battle. If he finds not 
his enemy in the forest, let him return with the flow- 
ers of spring and I will show him the trail.” 

“Good ! I will return, but it will be with the scalp 
of Sussex, or upon his track.” 

Gathering up his blankets and rifle, Waunatoncah 
plunged alone into the forest. Noll and Kenton 
turned their faces toward home. 

89 


CHAPTER XI. 


z 


BITS FROM HISTORY. 

HIS American people of the weird, wild 
wold, who were they? These people 
whose ancesters had been driven from 
their homes by the exactions of a tyrant, 
and the bigotry of eclesiastical power? They had 
sought this new world and claimed it for their own. 
They had hewn out of the forest new homes and set 
up their institutions, baptising them in sorrow, well 
besprinkled with blood. The land was theirs by 
right of conquest, for they had won it from the sav- 
age. They owned it by right of possession, and 
they had made it what it was. If their was any 
equity in law; if their was any tolerence in religion, 
it was theirs, and neither nation nor man had the 
right of arbitrary government. Their ideals were 
new, broad-based on nature’s truths and seeking af- 
ter God, and no churlish potentate had the right to 
tear them down. Although a people in the raw, yet 
they possessed something that stands at par the 
world over and is legal tender in every trial and tra- 
vail of life — simple innate manhood. It was their 
mission to show to the world that the lord is the 
laborer — the son of toil the true lord. 

It was now in the early spring of 1776, and the 
whole country was in a seething turmoil. The ques- 
tion was whether the colonies should remain subject 
to the dictates of an arrogant, selfish tyrant, or, by 
taking up arms, oppose him and become a sovereign 
90 


■ffn point 0^ THonor. 

people. The discussion had become all absorbing 
among the women — and was indeed ominous. No 
people were more ready to place the issue in the 
hands of war than those of Virginia. Her orators 
were thundering at every place of meeting. Of 
course Colonel Fairfax was drawn into the vortex. 

When Noll and Kenton had returned he showed 
no great disappointment at their failure, although he 
would liked to have known that the murderer of 
his son had been brought to justice. He would hear 
of no further attempt to pursue Sussex, however, 
and when Noll suggested that they appeal to the 
crown, he shook his head: 

“It would be of no use,” he had said. “The trial, 
if any, would be but a mockery — a farce. An 
American subject of the crown has no right under 
the law.” 

Then he had taken up the duties of his household 
for the winter. To Noll, he allowed the privilege 
of going when and where he pleased, at the same 
time offering him a place by his own fire-side with 
remunerative employment. The latter proposition 
Noll had accepted, and during the winter the two 
were much together. At first, Mrs. Fairfax held 
aloof, but finally under the influence of her husband, 
she was constrained to treat Noll with polite con- 
cern. Her address, always dignified and imposing, 
to him was courteous, though reserved. 

When in the presence of lima there was a subtle 
power that touched Noll’s inmost being, and made 
him seem silent and taciturn. She seemed some- 
how to carry the sunshine of the Creator in her pure 
transparent soul; and often as he would sit near 
91 


Ifn point of IHonor. 

her, he would catch himself studying the sweet rare 
face, and comparing the silken tresses of her hair to 
soft moonbeams, suggesting — half formed thoughts 
that slip away. She saw, and understood, and in 
her heart she was not displeased. In their conver- 
sations, which were few, she studiously avoided ref- 
erence to the past, knowing that time would unfold 
the story of his life, which her woman’s curiosity 
was burning to hear from his own lips. She would 
have denied, even to herself, that her feelings for 
him were other than solicitude, although her woman’s 
heart was always busy framing explanations of the 
terrible tragedy that had occurred in England. To- 
day (17Z5) she had found him in the library sombre 
and moody, and with ready tact she sought to re- 
lieve him of the torture she knew his brooding was 
bringing. 

“Have hope,’’ she said. 

“Have hope!’’ he answered her. “Is there any 
hope for a man whose ambition is all but dead? 
Miss lima, every kindred tie in my life is severed. 
Father, mother, and baby are dead, and I’m an exile 
from my country. Perhaps if I but tell you the 
story of — ’’ strange perversity of woman’s nature — 
just as he was on the point of telling her what she 
would have given worlds to have known, she inter- 
rupted him: 

“As long as there is life, Mr. Noll, there is hope 
for the brave man. Only the coward gives way to 
despair. A man’s life is what he makes it. There 
is always a harvest ahead if a man would but reap 
it. Form new ties; create new ideals and aspira- 
tions. It is not so much in the fact that we have 
92 


fn potnt of THonor. 

reached the goal of our ambition that we find the 
pleasure, but in the contemplation of the roses we 
have gathered along the journey. Even bitter trials, 
in after years, become pleasant, though sad remi- 
niscences.” 

The Colonel entered just here, and soon a warm 
argument ensued. Like all American gentry of 
that day, he was very fond of discussing public 
events, often allowing his enthusiasm to lead him 
into heated arguments. Rebellion was the cry of 
the land now, and the earnest desire of the Colonel’s 
heart was to win Noll over to his way of thinking. 
He was much wrought up this morning over the ac- 
tion of a British officer in sending abroad for trial 
one of his friends under a petty charge. The Colo- 
nel immediately launched forth on the impolitic, 
despotic, and obstinate measures of Parliament and 
the King, Noll mildly protesting some of his state- 
ments. 

“There will certainly be a peacable adjustment,” 
was one of Noll’s protests. 

“Let me tell you, Noll, there is no longer any 
hope of a peacable adjustment! The people must 
resort to arms to retain even a vestige of lib — Od’s 
blood! I mistake — we are serfs already!” 

“It’s a pity that the King is so obstinate,” said 
Noll. “He should be firm, but not obstinate.” 

“Too late! sir, too late! And even if it were not 
too late, the King has not the judgment. Obstinacy, 
sir, and firmness are parallel lines, running in close 
proximity, and it is easy to mistake the one in the 
use of the other. Judgment, sir, good judgment, is 
the only safeguard against their misapplication, 
93 


■ffn ipoint of IKonor. 

and the King lacks this judgment.” Here the Col- 
onel abruptly changed the subject: 

“Noll, we have had many discussions this past 
winter, and on the whole I’ll admit that I have found 
them pleasant, although you have maintained an ob- 
stinacy equal to that of the King’s in not accepting 
the course I think best for you. I now want to 
know what, in your opinion, should be the funda- 
mental principles of government?” 

Noll hesitated for some seconds. He knew of 
the Colonel’s fondness for argument, and as the 
question was broad-based he took some time to 
study. 

“Equity, tolerance and fraternity,” he finally an- 
swered. 

“Zounds, sir, you are right!” the Colonel ex- 
claimed. “Equal rights to all subjects; tolerance 
in matters pertaining to creeds; brotherly love be- 
tween the provinces — comperes, sir, in the great 
dominion of righteous government. That is all the 
American people want, and that is just what England 
is denying us. The time has come for us to assert 
our rights.” 

The summons to a meal here interrupted the dis- 
cussion, but it was resumed at the table. As usual 
it ended by the Colonel insisting upon Noll relin- 
quishing all rights of future' citizenship in England 
and taking up the cause of America; and as usual 
Noll hesitated before answering. This always made 
the Colonel mad, and he ended the conversation 
with an angry toss of his head. 

As has been before stated, when a Fairfax came 
to a decision he acted by it. The Colonel was now 
94 


irn ipoint of IHonor. 

for America, body and soul, ready to use his means 
and influence toward her independence. He had 
invited Patrick Henry and Colonel George Washing- 
ton to spend a few days with him, which invitation 
they had accepted, and it was his intention to have 
them address the populace during their stay. In 
order to bring the people together he had widely 
advertised a “shooting match” which was to take 
place at the King’s Inn, the next day. The guests 
were expected by dusk, and promptly at that hour 
they rode up on horseback. 

“Well, Colonel Fairfax, how are you? Any rebels 
in this country?” were the first words of Henry, as 
he dismounted. 

“Fairly well, sir, fairly well — not many rebels 
now, but we hope to have some soon Ah, Colo- 

nel Washington, it has been some time since I had 
the pleasure of welcoming you to Fairfax Hall.” 

“Not since I returned with you from that memor- 
able scene in the House of Burgesses, in which our 
friend, here, won his spurs as an orator and you 
cried treason,” rejoined Colonel Washington, at the 
same time giving Henry a sly wink. 

“Yes, yes, I remember that time,” laughed the 
Colonel — ‘ “Tarquin and Caesar had each his Bru- 
tus, Charles I. his Cromwell, and George HI. 

‘Treason!’ I yelled, and sprang to my feet. But a 
man has the right to change his mind, has he not?” 

A negroe servant had taken charge of the horses, 
and by this time they had approached the porch 
where Mrs. Fairfax and her daughter stood waiting. 
There was a spirit of welcome in the simple dignity 
with which the host and hostess received their 
95 


tn point of Tlonor. 

guests. There was a spirit of freedom, a sense of 
hospitality, an air of aristocracy about it. 

Both Washington and Henry were well and favor- 
ably known to the ladies, and for some time they 
were kept busy telling lima of her distant friends, 
with whom they were acquainted. 

“My mother,” said Washington during the even- 
ing, “spoke of meeting you, Miss lima, two summers 
ago with a crowd of your girl friends at Richmond. 
She was very much impressed with you, and I would 
now like to thank you for your kindness to her.” 

“Did she remember me? I shall never forget 
her. She is so dignified and commanding — a re- 
markable woman. When I was in her presence I 
was awed into silence, not through fear, but because 
of the nobleness of character, which manifests itself 
in every word and action. She has a heart in which 
there is room enough to take in every one of God’s 
creatures, I believe. In your thoughtful moods. 
Colonel Washington, you are very much like her.” 

“Thank you, I know of no higher tribute than can 
be paid a man than to say he is like a pure, good 
mother.” 

Later in the evening, when the ladies had retired, 
Noll’s case was brought up for discussion. The 
Colonel repeated the story just as Noll had told it 
to him, and then appealed to the judgment of his 
guests as to whether he was right in asking of Noll 
what he did. Colonel Fairfax had urged that Noll 
forget, blot out as it were, all memory of his native 
land. He pictured a glowing career, which a young 
man just in the fullness of youth could follow, should 
the colonies succeed in establishing their indepen- 
96 


tn ff)oint o\ IHonot. 

dence. So rabid were his arguments, however, that 
they confused himself, as well as the object of his 
would be beneficience. 

“It seems to me, gentlemen, that a man who has 
been so basely used by the rulers of a country could 
surely retain no vestige of love for that land. I 
have told Noll to meet the memories of the past as 
one dead man might meet another dead man in some 
unknown place, and I think it good advice. He 
agrees with me that the colonies are abused, but he 
cannot consent to renounce his country to help us 
out.” 

“I think that both of you, gentlemen, are on the 
wrong line of argument,” said Patrick Henry, ac- 
complishing by a few words all in which the Colonel 
had failed. “It is not a question of giving up one’s 
country or the love for it. You might as well bid a 
mother forget the grave where her first born is laid 
as to bid a man forget where his childhood feet have 
trod. Love of country is a natural passion in the 
human breast. It comes just as natural for us to 
love this country, and these homes of ours, as it 
does for the flowers to blossom. But there is some- 
thing nobler, something higher than love of country 
— a patriotism that rises above all sections. It has 
no bounds; it knows no north, or south, or east, or 
west; it is not restricted to the narrow margins of a 
principality, but girdles the world — the love of liber- 
ty. The patriot lifts his eye around the world and 
sees a struggling people trying to throw off the yoke 
of oppression, and his soul goes out to them. If 
possible he will join in the shedding of kindred blood.” 

“Sir, your words have touched me deeply,” Noll 
97 


1fn ipofnt of IHonor. 

exclaimed. “1 freely admit the justice of the Col- 
onies’ contentions, and deeply deplore the action of 
the British government. Even your most hot- 
headed are ready and willing for a harmonious set- 
tlem.ent, but destiny has ruled it otherwise. I love 
England, but as you say, Mr. Henry, I love liberty 
better. The fault that liberty is throttled lies not 
upon the conscience of my country, but upon her 
rulers. Some years ago there were voices to be 
heard favoring more lenient actions toward the colo- 
nies, but they stepped before the Juggernaut; they 
bowed before the will of an obstinate King, who has 
gathered around him only partisans to his own wishes. 
The French King saw the shadow of coming events 
when he signed the treaty of 1763, and the most 
conservative of Englishmen now admit, that he 
would never have ceded Canada to Great Britian, 
had it not been with the hope of securing American 
independence, and thereby striking an almost vital 
blow to England.” Then turning to Colonel Fairfax, 
Noll continued: 

“Colonel Fairfax, I will hesitate no longer; I love 
liberty well enough to even fight against my King. 
There is a vast distinction between what Mr. Henry 
set forth and what you proposed, and I marvel that 
we did not see it before. I will help fight for your 
country if you will allow me to cherish the memo- 
ries of my native land. The pictures of my fathers 
are hanging silently in the ancestrial halls in England, 
and an effort to turn their faces to the wall would 
be an affront to the dead.” Then the man who was 
soon to hold in his grasp a destiny that would effect 
all nations, arose and extended his hand to Noll. 

98 


CHAPTER Xll 


© 


AS TO RAFFLES. 

N the following morning all went to the 
shooting-match. The place selected was 
a shady grove to the left of the King’s 
Inn, and admirably suited for the pur- 
pose. The Colonel had sent on previously, several 
fine beeves nicely quartered, besides numerous oth- 
er things. There were other enthusiastic, rampant 
patriots in the country, and they also contributed 
toward the coming sport. 

In all raffles it is the custom to put up each arti- 
cle and “rifle” it off. This consists in a limited 
number paying for the privilege of shooting for said 
article. The one excelling, carried off the spoils, 
and some were known to carry off a whole wagon 
load at very small cost. They were very popular 
and always well attended. 

It was the purpose of Colonel Fairfax to take all 
money arising from the sale of chances and devote 
it to patriotic causes. Every one agreed that it 
was proper, and both visitors expressed themselves 
as being highly pleased with the scheme. 

“I would that the country was full of such men as 
you. Colonel,” said Henry. “For, if I am not badly 
mistaken, we will have need of funds, and that very 
soon.” 

Perhaps two hundred men were on the ground by 
ten o’clock. They were mostly all typical Ameri- 
cans of that age, dressed in the garb of hunters, 
99 


fn ipolnt of THonor. 

with the coon skin pouch, the deer’s hoof for a 
charger, and the long flint-lock rifle, the which noth- 
ing was more deadly in that day. Soon the work of 
taking chances began. Each man went around, and 
seeing an article that he desired, he paid for a chance 
and the judges took down his name. By half past 
eleven, hundreds of shooting matches were in em- 
bryo. Of course, Kenton was there and in his glory. 
Meeting up with Noll, he exclaimed with the eager- 
ness and happiness of a boy: 

“See yonder beef quarter? I’ll wager a first class 
beaver pelt to a foot of wampun that I take it home 
with me.” 

At twelve several of the matches were called off. 
The target consisted of a small board, upon which 
was pasted a white piece of paper with three con- 
centric circles, varying in diameter from a half inch 
to an inch and a half. The marksman failing to put 
the ball within one of these circles was a poor shot, 
indeed, and his effort was not counted. The dis- 
tance was seventy-five steps, and there was no 
regularity in shooting, each man calling for a target 
whenever it suited him to do so. Soon the indicated 
beef quarter came upon the block. 

“Clear the track, boys; put up my target, Jim!” 
was shouted from the lips of Kenton as he strod to 
the place where the contestant was to stand. A 
rush of feet followed his voice. The crowd flocked 
to the right and left from the rifleman to the target, 
forming a living lane with about five feet in width, 
each head inclining inward to see the effect of the 
shot. The marksman stood looking as if he dis- 
dained entering into such an easy contest. Then he 
100 


■ffn point ot IHonor. 

threw his rifle to his shoulder, where it was poised 
for a second before bursting forth a sheet of flame. 
The ball entered the inner circle, and a wild shout 
rent the air. The excitement was kept up for two 
hours, and then it was announced that Patrick Hen- 
ry would address the crowd. 

Virginia, mother of states and statesmen, you 
never had within your legislative halls a more patri- 
otic or eloquent orator than Patrick Henry. 

He began his talk by repeating the history of Vir- 
ginia from her earliest settlement, dwelling to some 
length upon the character and deeds of Nathenial 
Bacon, the young, brave, patriotic, eloquent and en- 
thusiastic soul who had led the first insurrection 
against tyranny in the New World — rebelling against 
the despotism of Charles II. He recited in that el- 
oquent and fiery manner, so peculiar to him, the 
deeds of their fathers in years agone, and reminded 
them that the work of Smith, Gosnel, and Bacon 
had not been in vain, when it became necessary for 
Virginia to show to the world that there was no place 
for despotism within her borders. He recalled the 
fact that Virginia had furnished the first American 
who gave his life for liberty — Thomas Hanford. 
And then he named in order those who had followed 
for freedom’s sake. The people cheered and the 
orator grew more eloquent. 

He summed up the incidents which had occurred 
in the sister colonies, naming them one by one, until 
he came to the ascension of George III. Then it 
was that his voice changed from recital to that of 
deep feeling. He reminded them of the fact that 
since his coronation that monarch had truly exer- 
101 


tn ipoint 0^ IHonor. 

cised the scepter of despotism. He seemed to re- 
gard the American colonies as his personal proper- 
ty to be used solely for the benefit of himself and 
his partisans. His, had been a continuous reign of 
repeated injuries aud usurpations; he had never con- 
sented to anything like justice. He had abolished 
charters having the benefit of free laws and set up 
arbitrary and proprietary governments. He had 
suppressed free thought and tried to chain reason, 
and had sneered at the complaints of his subjects. 
Only a few short months ago the venerated charter 
of Massachusettes had been annulled. His hearers 
knew what had followed. The address which had 
been sent to the King had been ignored, and instead 
of redress, he had sent an armed fleet and an army 
of ten thousand men to reduce the colonies by force 
of arms. 

“The day of battle is here!” the orator exclaimed. 
“The tocsin of war was sounded when the British 
seized and fortified Boston Neck. There are those 
who will tell you that there is yet hope of a peaca- 
ble adjustment, but I tell you that hope is dead ! 
We must either fight or become slaves. The time 
has come for us to emulate the deeds of our fathers. 
Are we ready?” 

“Ready!” and the air was rent with the answer 
from two hundred throats. A wild and exciting 
time followed, and it was some time before the ora- 
tor could resume. 

“Does Sam Adams cringe before the dictates, or 
halt at the ban placed upon him by Parliament? 
You know that he does not. Neither will Virginians 
stoop to become serfs. We are not dummies, pos- 
102 


fn point of Itonor. 

sessed of minds like potter’s clay, which receives 
passively and with unresisting acquiesence what- 
ever the tyrant chooses to impress upon it; but we 
are men — active, strong, resolute, thoughtful men — 
possessing equal rights, and equal to any potentate 
that ever sat upon a throne. The mighty hand of 
Great Britian has stretched forth to crush the Pil- 
grims, and they are few and weak; but in the mem- 
ories of the past, the aspirations of the present, and 
the hopes of the future, we worship at the shrine of 
Liberty, and England will find us ready to lay down 
our lives in Liberty’s defense. Those who were 
with yonder gentlemen — George Washington and 
Colonel Fairfax, I mean — in the French and Indian 
war, have demonstrated how well we can fight.” 

He thrilled them with the subtle witchery of the 
orator; he mystified them with the magic marvel of 
the speaker’s art; he juggled with their senses, and 
moulded their thoughts to suit his own, and made 
them feel as he did. That was the day of great 
men — Hancock, Henry, Jefferson, Adams, Frank- 
lin, Washington. Their mighty hearts are still now, 
but though such vast currents flow into the past, 
smaller streams yet remain to continue the work of 
the ages, and patriotism and liberty shall not perish 
from the land of the free. What are the fruits of 
their labors, you ask? The result has been written 
with an iron pen upon the pages of history — the 
greatest Republic the world has ever seen. 

After the speaking, the shooting began again and 
continued up into the night — the contestants using 
candles, one near the sight of the rifle and two on 
each side the target to shoot by. Silas Wilkins, the 
103 


fln ipoint of IHonor. 

sqatter and trapper, was there, and he and Kenton 
knew no end to their enjoyment. Silas had taken 
up his abode on the Colonel’s plantation with Betty, 
now his wife. 

“What do you think of such shooting, Mr. Noll?” 
asked Washington, as they stood looking upon the 
scene. “Gould an army be formed of such mate- 
rial as that?” 

“An army of ten thousand such men, well provis- 
ioned and disciplined, could hold in check any num- 
ber England might send against them.” 

“Discipline!” exclaimed Henry, overhearing Noll’s 
remark, “they do not need discipline. They are the 
children of patriotism, and patriotism is the child of 
travail and sorrow, which is the best school of dis- 
cipline.” 

“A metaphor in scope, sir,” answered Noll. “But 
I hardly see how England can maintain a lengthy war 
in this land. At present her armies are scattered 
to the‘four winds of heaven and she dare not move 
any part from its present position. She has prac- 
tically no reserve, and the only way I see for her 
getting troops is to hire them.” 

“What is the opinion of conservative Englishmen 
as to the probable outcome of war, in case the colo- 
nies do rebel?” Washington asked. 

“They can see but one result — the independence 
of America. England’s recent wars have weakened 
her, and should the colonies prove too feeble, France 
is ready and anxious to lend a helping hand.” 

When Colonel Fairfax and his guest left the 
grounds it was about five in the afternoon. The Col- 
onel was in good spirits, for it seemed to him the day 
104 


Hn point of Honor. 

had been frought with much good. The reference 
Henry had made about him being in the French and 
Indian war pleased him. The freshness and beauty 
of the spring day pleased him. The day was one of 
those pleasant, balmy affairs that sometimes come 
in the latter part of April — the early songsters were 
beginning to hop about the trees, and here and there 
had begun to peep up little patches of grass, denot- 
ing that spring would soon hide the rugged outlines 
of the world. 

As the King’s Inn was only a short distance up 
the river from Fairfax Hall, the gentlemen had 
walked over. While returning through the little 
strip of woodland the incidents of the day were free- 
ly discussed, at least by Mr. Henry and the Colonel. 
Washington sought more the society of Noll. 

“Colonel Fairfax informs me that you held a com- 
mission in the royal army, Mr. Noll; may I presume 
to ask of what rank?” 

“Brigadeer-general, sir.” 

“Of horse, or foot?” 

■ “Foot.” 

“Pardon me for my seeming curiosity, I assure 
you that the questions I ask are prompted by deep- 
est interest, but should you not care to answer I 
shall not feel offended in the least if you decline.” 

“I assure you. Colonel Washington, that I appre- 
ciate your kindly interest and will gladly answer 
any question or explain any point you may wish to 
know to the best of my ability.” 

“Thank you. Did you rise from the ranks, or ” 

“I received a captain’s commission and was pro- 
moted from that.” 


105 


•ffn pdint of THonor. 

“Then you understand the drilling of raw re- 
cruits?” 

“I have frequently been detailed for such duty.” 

Just then the voice of Henry attracted their at- 
tention, and they paused in their own discourse to 
listen to what he was saying — impelled to do so by 
his earnestness. 

“1 believe not, Colonel,” he was saying. “Your 
fears will never take shape. As you are perhaps 
aware, the people of England know comparatively 
little about us, and we care less about them. Al- 
though speaking a common language, yet the inter- 
ests of the two countries are severally incompatible, 
and what constitutes the sovereign power of ond 
does not suit the other. A change in the present 
conditions would show each to the other in a better 
light. The people of both England and America 
are descendants of the old Germanic races against 
which the tides of the Roman Empire flowed but to 
recede in broken fragments. The blood of the An- 
glo-Saxon courses through the veins of each. When 
these colonies shall have become free and indepen- 
dent, and when they turn from internal to external 
affairs, I cannot believe that our blood will become 
recreant to an immortal lineage, as you fear. It is 
in the nature of the Anglo-Saxon td predominate, 
and in the years to come England and America 
may quarrel and wrangle over matters of state, but 
should another nation, or a consort of nations, seek 
the overthrow of one, you will find the other there 
— shoulder to shoulder to the last man.” 

They were nearing Fairfax Hall by this time, and 
were entering upon the graveled driveway When, as 
106 


Hn point of IHonor. 

if by common impulse, they all halted. There was 
a gradual incline from where they were, leading di- 
rectly to the house. The sun had fallen just behind 
the crest of this incline, leaving a rich, glowing 
scene of purple, and crimson, and cloths of gold, 
while the giants of the forest gracefully arched 
their arms above the driveway making, as it were, 
a frame for the fiery picture. Suddenly, as the 
men stood looking, in the very center of this flood 
of crimson light a human form appeared; drawn 
against the brilliant background as distinctly and as 
palpable as if placed there by one fell touch of the 
brush of Deity. The figure was tall and powerful; 
the attitude firm and resolute. For a moment it 
stood facing toward them; then the head turned and 
Noll saw the outlines of a solitary eagle’s feather 
floating out behind. 

“Waunatoncah, by the shades of my fathers!” es- 
caped from his lips; and then a flood of memory, 
bringing back the past, swept into his brain, and he 
quickly pressed forward to where the Indian stood. 

“I have sought my pale-face father,” were the 
first words of the Sachem, “to tell him that the dogs, 
the Wyandots, have dared to leave the prints of 
their moccasins in yonder forest. I trailed them 
from across the great mountains but lost their track 
at the river. They now lie hid like cowards in the 
bushes.” 

“Some marauding party bent on mischief,” ex- 
claimed Washington. 

“How many are they?” was asked. 

“They number more than the fingers on my hands 
and Sussex, the pale-face chief, is at their head.” 

107 


Ifn point 0^ THonor. 

“Sussex The luck of hell !” exclaimed Noll. 

See yon vulture soaring skyward; see him stoop; 
his quarry a wounded deer. Another, seeing his 
downward plunge, follows from some aerial height. 
Then a third and a fourth, until the air grows black 
with the hurtling of their wings. So it is with 
trouble — disasters never come singly. 

108 


CHAPTER XIII. 


SOME HOURS OF INDECISION. 

I T was now six days after the raffles and 
nothing further had been heard of the band 
of Wyandots, although considerable anxiety 
was felt at Fairfax Hall. The fact that 
Sussex was with the Indians made Colonel Fairfax 
apprehensive that some blow was intended him, or 
some member of his family. Everyone felt that 
their presence in the neighborhood meant mischief 
of some kind. 

“It’s the work of those damned English emissa- 
ries, Mr. Kenton,” said the Colonel, as he and sev- 
eral of his friends were discussing the matter. “1 
tell you. Great Britain is not only sending out men 
among those hellish demons to incite them to the 
work of rapine and murder, but she is furnishing 
them with guns and ammunition to give practical 
expression to their enmity.” 

“The American Indian, as a rule, does not need 
much persuasion to begin the work of rapine and 
massacre,” observed old man Kenton, John’s father. 

“A demonstrated fact, sir Now that war is 

almost inevitable, England realizes that she must 
put forth the most gigantic efforts to subdue these 
colonies, or she will be confronted with rebellions 
among her colonial possessions all around the globe. 
She thinks, perhaps that the Indian will help her, but 

I think that he will make matters worse, or ” 

“Where are you going, lima?” interrupted Mrs. 
109 


•ffn point of IHonor. 

Fairfax, as that young lady and Betty Wilkins came 
from the house, the latter with a rifle in her hand. 

“Betty is going to give me some lessons in target 
practice, mother.’’ 

“Don’t go too far from the house, child,” cau- 
tioned old lady Kenton. “I woke up this morning 
laughing, and that is a sure sign that I, or some of 
my friends, will have trouble soon.” 

“Aunt Molly, you are always consulting your ora- 
cles. I believe that your pessimist’s only excuse 
for the sunshine is to make life’s shadows deeper, 
don’t you, Betty?” 

“I don’t know,” answered Betty. “Sometimes I 
believe in dreams and such like. I knCw that the 
night before my father and mother were killed I had 
the sweetest dreams. You know that they do say 
that when your slumber is a happy dreaming, it is a 
sure sign that your heart will break the next day.” 

“Perhaps ” and then eagerly: “But do you 

know, Betty, that yesterday while I was out on the 
river with my rifle, I heard the call of a wild turkey 
just across in the woods. I wish you could get a 
shot at one to-day, don’t you?” said lima, as they 
took the path to where her canoe was tied. 

A faint caw of a crow, apparently from the tree- 
tops across the stream, was heard as the young la- 
dies approached the river; the sound of what seemed 
to be the hooting of an owl, came from farther down. 
All bright and joyous lima tripped down to where 
her boat was moored, and soon she and Betty were 
rowing about, enjoying the fresh spring day. Betty 
had been reared in a society where out-door exer- 
cise and gun-practice were a part of the creed, and 
110 


In ipotnt 0^ THonor. 

lima envied her of her skill with the rifle, and hoped 
some day to be her equal. She had prevailed upon 
her father and he had ordered for her a rifle of finest 
workmanship, all inlaid with silver and pearl. 

“Listen! Betty, 1 believe to my soul 1 heard 
those turkeys again!” exclaimed lima, as she be- 
came all eager attention. 

Sure enough, the call of a wild turkey was heard 
by the two girls just in the woods on the opposite 
bank. Betty picked up the paddle and commenced 
shoving the boat up the stream. When far enough 
up, she pushed in toward shore and let the canoe 
drift under the overhanging limbs, at the same time 
keeping a close lookout for the fowl. 

lima was intently looking on shore, as they came 
opposite where the call was first heard, when the 
rustling of some tall dry grass just below them at- 
tracted her attention. Turning, her eyes rested 
with consternation upon the painted face of an In- 
dian warrior. Then she heard the deafening report 
of a gun close to her ear, and while she looked, the 
face of the savage assumed a vacant, deathly stare, 
and then he lurched forward. 

Betty immediately dropped the smoking rifle to 
the bottom of the boat and grabbed the paddle, has- 
tily dipping it into the water to shove out from the 
approach of three more Indians, who were leaping 
toward them. So excited were her actions, however, 
that she failed to note in which direction she was 
backing the boat, and was entangled in some brush 
before she knew it. Before she could free the ca- 
noe, an Indian waded into the water and grasped 
the prow. She quickly sprang to her feet, at the 
111 


fit g^o^nt of Honor. 

same time swinging the blade into the air and bringing 
it down with terrible force at the Indian’s head. 
The savage avoided the blow by ducking, but in do- 
ing so he gave the boat a violent jerk. This almost 
threw the brave little womian out, and in clutching 
at the sides of the canoe for support, she lost her 
weapon. By this time the other indians came up, 
and the three dragged the small craft to the shore. 
Upon an Indian taking hold of her arm, Betty ut- 
tered three ear-piercing screams, which caused the 
savages to use the girls rather roughly the next few 
minutes while they were binding and gagging them. 

The next move of the red men shows with what 
sagacity they act. No sooner were the young ladies 
securely bound, when one of them turned the boat 
upside down, and putting his foot against the light 
thing, he shoved it a hundred feet or more out into 
the stream. Then turning to the girls he signified 
that no further out-cry or struggle was to be made 
under penalty of being brained with the tomahawk 
he held in his hand. Placing his hands in a funnel- 
like shape over his mouth, he uttered three distinct 
and loud caws of a crow. Waiting some minutes, 
the signal was repeated. Again the hooting of an 
owl was heard down the river, and immediately upon 
hearing it, the Indians took up their march into the 
interior. After traveling some miles several other 
Indians joined them, and then the bands were taken 
from off the captives and they were allowed the 
freedom of speech. 

The captors took every precaution known to an 
Indian to hide their trail— directing their steps to a 
thick cane-brake, where they separated and made 
112 


irn ipoint o\ IHonot. 

their way through it with the utmost caution, with 
the object of making their foot-prints so faint that 
pursuit would be almost out of the question. Hav- 
ing assured themselves, so far as possible, that the 
trail was hidden from the scutiny of any one at- 
tempting to follow, the Wyandots made a turn di- 
rectly to the west and pushed forward without de- 
lay toward the mountains. Upon seeing this, the 
hearts of the unfortunate girls misgave them, and 
they became almost utterly disconsolate. Yet 
both knew that what would be possible for humans 
to do, would be done as soon as they were missed. 

And such was the case, indeed, although there 
were some hours of indecision before the right move 
was made. Those at the Hall had heard the rifle 
shot, closely followed by Betty’s screams, and soon 
all of them were standing upon the river bank where 
Ilma’s boat was want to be. The practiced eye of 
Silas Wilkins was the first to note the up-turned 
canoe as it floated down the stream. He pointed it 
out to the others. 

Fate first smiles upon, then stabs the human 
heart. Like a sudden flaw in a rare jewel, sorrow 
had touched the Fairfax homestead about two years 
ago, and then misfortunes had followed in rapid 
succession. There could be but one explanation to 
the up-turned boat to Colonel Fairfax — lima was 
drowned. Upon him announcing his belief, the ne- 
groes set up a low, dismal wail that added more 
tensely and heavily to the situation. 

Wilkins plunged into the water and began swim- 
ming toward the canoe, while Noll and old man 
Kenton rushed down the stream to where the cutter 
113 


fn point of Itonor. 

was moored, and were soon rowing with all their 
might for the same object. Just as they were re- 
laxing their efforts to come alongside the canoe, 
their attention was arrested by the appearance of 
John Kenton and Waunatoncah on the opposite shore. 
So after taking Wilkins in, and righting the smaller 
craft, they rowed over to where the hunter was 
standing. 

“What’s the matter over yonder?” asked John, as 
the prow of the boat grated on the shore. 

“We fear that lima and Mrs. Wilkins have been 
drowned,” answered Noll, almost choking with the 
words. 

Kenton exchanged looks with the Indian. 

“I told you so, didn’t I, Big Hatchet?” he said. 
“It comes just as natural for an Indian to be in some 
devilment as it does for a ’coon to stick his foot in 
a hole in a log— and get caught. How long ago was 
this, and how did it happen?” 

“About two hours ago Miss lima and Mrs. Wilkins 
left the house to engage in some target practice. 
We heard them shooting out here, and then, just af- 
ter a shot, we were startled by hearing three 
screams, and coming down to the river we saw the 
overturned boat.” 

“Did you find a paddle with the canoe?” 

“No, by Jinks, we didn’t!” exclaimed Wilkins, as 
a sudden gleam of hope lighted up his intense, 
swarthy face, designing why Kenton had asked the 
question. 

“Well, it is perhaps up the river somewhere, so. 
Big Hatchet, you follow up this side until you come 
to yonder bending willow. Keep a close lookout for 
114 


tn Point o\ IHonot* 

that paddle and anything else you may find. Fll go 
back with the boat, but if you find anything, let us 
know.” 

The scene that met their gaze, on nearing the 
other shore, touched each heart. Mrs. Fairfax was 
sitting upon the ground with her face covered in her 
lap, while her husband was stooping by her side with 
one hand upon her shoulder. There was something 
so touching, yet at the same time so commanding, 
in the grief of the old people, that no one had offered 
a word of consolation. Colonel Fairfax stooped 
there utterly unconscious of the surrounding pres- 
ence, his features exposed and working with deep 
anguish, while heavy tears fell from his eyes and 
rolled unheaded down his furrowed cheeks to the 
ground. The grating of the boat on the sands 
seemed to arouse him, for he stirred as if remem- 
bering something, and presently he arose and ap- 
proached John Kenton. 

‘‘John, do you think we can recover the bodies?” 

‘‘Sir, God knows I hope it is not so bad as what 
you think, although I’m afraid the truth will be bad 
enough. Had you not noticed that the paddle was 
not floating near the boat, and was nowhere in sight? 
Have you forgotten that there was a band of Wyan- 
dots in yonder woods not over a week ago? Think 
you that they had no object in coming here? If you 
have forgotten, I have not, and for the past week 
Waunatoncah and I have been endeavoring to locate 
them and find out their object. This morning we 
succeeded in finding where they had hid, and now it 
seems that they, themselves, have unfolded their 
mission. The reason we have not discovered their 
115 


•ffn ipoint ot IHonor. 

whereabouts sooner, was that they have used the 
utmost caution, hiding their camp in the heart of 
that immense cane-brake to the north, there, on the 
other side of the river. Waunatoncah is now over 
across the river seeing what he can find, and ” 

Kenton had no more than uttered the last words, 
when a long, exultant cry resounded from across 
the stream. 

“There, I knew it!” he exclaimed, “the Great 
Hatchet has found something to interest us. Colo- 
nel, it is my opinion that not another Indian on this 
continent possesses the sagacity of that native. 
Let’s cross over and see for ourselves what he 
has found.” 

The row across the river was made with dispatch, 
for the negroes had learned something of the hope 
Kenton had brought, and they bent to the oars with 
a will. Arriving on the opposite shore, they found 
Great Hatchet standing near the bunch of dry cut- 
grass, pointing with his index finger, while, what 
looked like the shadow of a sarcastic smile was 
playing around his mouth. 

“The dogs, the Wyandots, must even leave their 
trail in the water,” he said, as he pointed out the 
Indian whom Betty had shot. 

After examining the body for some seconds, it 
was thrown into the stream, and then they took up 
the trail and followed it some distance out into the 
forest. For some distance from the river the 
ground was low and marshy, and no trouble was had 
in distinguishing the route of the Wyandots. When 
high ground was reached, however, Kenton called a 
halt, and soon after, the party returned to prepare 
116 


tn t>o\r\l ot IHonot* 

for the pursuit, which all knew would be one to 
try the endurance, and of long, close trailing. 

“Kenton, I shall not insist on accompanying you 
this time,” said Colonel Fairfax, as the same party 
of four who had followed Sussex before, were being 
rowed across the James. “But I will raise a party 
and follow on behind. Be sure and leave a broad 
trail for us to follow. I intend to get enough men 
to wipe out the whole Wyandot nation, if it becomes 
necessary to do so.” 

It is not the purpose here to follow Kenton, Noll, 
Wilkins, and Waunatoncah in their pursuit through 
that vast wilderness that lay between the settle- 
ment and the mountains, and on beyond. Neither 
will be given in detail how they tracked the wary 
savages through voiceless solitudes, up shallow 
creek beds, through cane-brakes, and how the Wy- 
andots never lost their wariness in using all means 
known to Indian cunning to hide their tracks. The 
journey was a long one and, on account of the ex- 
cellent manner in which the Wyandots conducted 
their flight, Kenton’s party was unable at any time 
to gain upon them, and some days they even lost 
ground. Therefore we will pass over a period of 
some thirty days and dwell for a time in an Indian 
village, just in the shadow of some overhanging hills 
on the banks of the upper Cumberland. 

117 


CHAPTER XIV, 


IN AN INDIAN VILLAGE, 

a LWAYS the stars are; always love. Go- 
associates, comperes in the great do- 
minion of Time — co-equal with Time; 
forged in the furnace of the ever-Pres- 
ent — alike primival, co-existent and to be. 

In the contemplation of the stars we naturally as- 
sociate them with love. Love, to be sublime, must 
be commensurate with the universal principles of 
the beautiful imbedded in human nature. Thus are 
we moved to the consideration of love as something 
so fine as to arouse a sense of awe akin to that we 
feel when we try to imagine the bounds of the uni- 
verse. 

Love! Who, of all the millions of millions, has 
not known its joys and sorrows; who has not felt its 
tender sympathies, its thrills? No record of one in 
the long, long cycles of the world. No man, no 
woman ever passed from this earth without loving 
some creature; by some creature loved — unless it be 
the craven wretch who hides his implement of death 
under a handkerchief* — but wait, he has a mother — 
God, pity her. 

Today lima was sitting on a rudely constructed 
seat in front of a wigwam. It was the love that one 

*By a strange co-incidence, just as the anthor was 
penning the above words the news flashed over the 
wires of the assassination of President McKinley. 

118 


tn ipoint o\ lionot. 

man bore her, you might say, that had placed her 
there. Yesterday that man had approached her for 
the first time. For some reason he had not shown 
himself at all during that long, weary march, yet 
she had felt that he was at no great distance. What 
a long, long journey that had been, and how weary 
she had become, and now that it was ended what 
was to be the outcome? And then the light that 
had appeared in the man’s eyes while in her pres- 
ence — it seemed meek and awed. What did it 
mean? In fact, whence would come the answers to 
all these thousands of questions that were constant- 
ly surging through her brain? 

Three days — three eternities— and still no sign of 
father or friends! Would they never come! Betty, 
who had been reared to much steamer things, had 
ceased to look for succor from their friends, at 
least for some time, but lima felt that they would, 
they must come. Yet she was torn by contending 
emotions. How could they come? Gould human 
skill follow the trackless path the Wyandots had 
left? And then that other fearful, horrible, unan- 
swerable question would spring up — what was Sus- 
sex’s object in abducting her? Would he try and 
force a companionship with her- 

How insignificant is human intellect and its 
boasted power when fear of an unknown, unspeaka- 
ble danger is tugging at the heart Human beings, 

here locked up underneath the stars in petty vani- 
ties, crowding each other on the streets of Time; 
never pausing in their self-importance to compre- 
hend their foolish hurry and vain conceits — unless 
it be when brought face to face with an awful seri- 
119 


■ffn point of THonor. 

ousness, such as was now confronting lima. Her 
emotions almost choked her. 

“Betty,” she said, “come out here and talk to me, 
or my thoughts will drive me mad. Do you not re- 
alize the awful, horrible position in which I am 
placed! And we are perfectly helpless — just as 
helpless as we were when in our cradles. Surely, 
surely father and Mr. Wilkins will come to release 
us soon. It seems to me that if we were they, and 
they were we, that I would turn — yet I know that 
such a thought is unreasonable. O, that I might 
have surcease from this hopeless, mocking uncer- 
tainty!” 

“There is no use in feeling that way,” said Betty, 
as she came from the wigwam and took a seat near 
the unfortunate girl. 

“O, Betty, we must do something!” 

“That’s it — WE must do something! You hit it. 
Of course, if we stay here long enough our friends 
will find us, for Silas Wilkins has not followed me 
around ever since I was fourteen years old to then 
let a red Indian steal me just as he has his hands on 
me. But if we stay until our friends come, there 
is no telling what that Sussex may attempt, there- 
fore I’ve been thinking of how we would, at least, 
try and effect our own escape.” 

“O, yes, do anything! The dangers of the wilder- 
ness can surely not be greater than the ones we 
confront here. We may starve, but I had rather 
starve than ” 

“Now, there’s where you are wrong — we will not 
starve either, if 1 can get possession of your rifle, 
which, as you know, is in the council lodge. I know 
120 


In ipotnt o\ THonor. 

that you have not my confidence, but then you was 
not raised in the wilderness. Now, you just listen 
to a little reason for a minute, and then put your 
trust in me. From what you told me of what that 
scoundrel, Sussex, said to you yesterday. I’ve come 
to the conclusion that he is either crazy, or it is his 
intention to appear very meek and humble. He’s 
mean enough to commit any crime, but if he thinks 
it possible, he will try and win your compassion be- 
fore resorting to violent measures. Now should he 
approach you again soon, do not shut up like a ter- 
rapin, as you did yesterday, but encourage him to 
talk — make him believe he is succeeding in his ob- 
ject, whatever it may be. Just leave the rest to 
me. These fools don’t know that I was raised up in 
the wilderness, or they would keep a closer watch 
over us. Just let me get my hands on that rifle!” 

It was just as Betty said — the guard over them 
was loose, they being even allowed to walk about 
among the wigwams undisturbed. The fact was, 
the Indians never thought that the two captives 
would dare make an effort to escape, therefore no 
especial vigilence was assumed. Betty had taken 
advantage of this the previous evening to wander 
around the village, at the same time assuming a 
boldness that had pleased her captors. After say- 
ing a few comforting words to lima, and giving her 
some good advice, she again set off on another round. 
As she had stated, the Wyandots had placed Ilma’s 
rifle in the council lodge, and it was now her pur- 
pose to see, if possible, what would be the best 
course to pursue in reaching it. She was a plucky 
little woman, this Betty, one of the few things that 
121 


Un point of IHonor. 

held intrinsic value to the typical American of that 
day — powder, lead, salt, maize — a woman who 
dared. 

Immediately upon the arrival of the Wyandots, a 
council of the chiefs was held, at which the warriors 
of the entire camp were present. Grave and grim 
they had sat while the disposal of the prisoners was 
being passed upon. Then Ilma’s rifle had been in- 
troduced. They had never seen a gun quite so 
beautiful as that, although their English friends had 
furnished quite a number of them weapons of simi- 
lar pattern. It had been passed from one to the 
other, each minutely examining its carvings and in- 
laying. After much deliberation, it was decided to 
place the gun among the venerated keepings of the 
nation, therefore it was turned over to the chief 
medicine man, who placed it among other sacred 
keepings in the council lodge. Betty had kept a close 
watch over all of their movements, and knowing 
much of the Indian customs, although not under- 
standing the language, she had put two and two to- 
gether, thereby reasoning out a correct solution of 
the rifle’s destiny. 

As Betty left Ilma’s side, Sussex made his ap- 
pearance. He seemed to have been watching and 
waiting, by his approach, for such an opportunity. 

“Ah, Miss lima, has your companion decided upon 
a stroll along our principal boulevard?” he said, with 
a feeble attempt at levity. His approach had been 
so silent that she had not heard him, therefore his 
voice had the effect of startling her. 

“Don’t be frightened,” he pleaded. “Don’t run 
122 


flu point of ‘Honor. 

from me, I shall not hurt you in any way.” 

“Hurt me! Would that you would hurt me! 
Would that you would kill me! I had ten thousand 
times rather that, than have you force your presence 
upon me.” 

“Ah, I know what you would say, and I know that 
you have the right to think it; but upon what honor 
I have left, I had just as soon think of harming my 
mother as you.” 

“God, pity your mother, and protect from your 
callous thoughts.” 

“Ah, Miss lima, you don’t understand — I know, 
you think me utterly black, but, believe me, there is 
a little something left here,” and he touched his 
breast. 

“A little,” she said, with intense meaning, “but 
you could cover that little with a fleck of dust.” 

The man blanched — he could not help but know 
her meaning, and feel the supreme contempt with 
which she regarded him. 

“Why is it. Captain Sussex, that you wait until 
Betty leaves to seek me? Havn’t you absolute 
power here? Surely you do not have to wait — you 
can command.” 

“Don’t!” he said, “your words hurt me! God, am 
I so utterly black! I have known greater wrongs — 
but then they were not published. It is not so much 
the nature of the crime, but the circumstance. The 
world has such a common trick of kicking a man 

when once he has started to fall Wait — I know 

what you would say — but you have only seen the 
dark side— there is a good side, and I’ll tell you of 
it, if you but let me. At least, you cannot help but 
123 


■ffn t»oint of THonor. 

admit that there is a shadow of an excuse — and 
pity me. 

“You see, your life and mine have been in such 
different atmospheres. God, there is no compari- 
son. You have breathed fresh, pure air; mine has 
been the sulphurous fumes from hell. I know it 
now, that it is too late. Listen; I had a friend once, 
and a sweetheart — O, a man can love more than 
once; I’m not a fool, whatever else I may be. My 
father was rich then, and I v^as courted — the only 
heir, you see. That was in the days when my friends 
called me a genius, and I thought I was destined to 
astonish the v/orld. But my father was ruined by 
honorable men, and — God, save the mark — died of 

his own hands That’s where I get my weakness, 

you say? Perhaps — I don’t know. But, anyway, 
then it v/as that friend was no longer my friend; and 
my sweetheart proved false. God, I have certainly 
had my share of life’s knocks! 

“Well, the bubble bursted then. To me, life, and 
its all, was a fraud. There was nothing substantial 
but the animal — just beastly — er — passion. Intellect 
was a shadow; honor a plaything; religion a cloak. 
Evil, the animal, had always triumphed. Every 
man was but the natural enemy of every other man. 
Greeds sprang up just to tear down other creeds. 
God — but why do I call on God — there was once 
a time when I would have eliminated Him from Crea- 
tion. Then, if that were so, it was but natural that 
I prey upon my fellow man, just as my fellow man 
had preyed upon me and mine. Why should I feel 
any remorse of conscience? What mattered it to 
me if a woman’s heart ached, or a man’s prospects 
124 


■ffn point of THonor. 

were ruined? It was but the inevitable law, and 
the pain would soon pass — then oblivion. 

“But there came a time when I desired a change. 
It was when I met you. Ah, lima, lima— don’t turn 
away like that! Don’t you know that in the great 
wastes of the earth. Creation has so ordained that 
here and there are little oasis. I love you, lima; 
God, how I love you, and you are the one oasis in 
the great waste of my being. But how far you 
seem from me, although I have you here by me — Ah, 
don’t look at me that way — don’t rise — listen — I 
have but little more to say. 

“Yes, when first I saw you I loved you, and it was 
not like anything I had ever known. It touched my 
inmost being; it effected the trend of my life; it 
dominated my intellect; it is the keynote of my 
thoughts. 

“Well, after the bubble bursted, after every purer 
impulse had become callous, I took pleasure in 
mastering the foiables, or what I was pleased to 
term the quibbles, of my associates. I was brutally 
careless of their rights; grossly materialistic; cynic- 
ally skeptical of all they claimed was good, and that 
has elevated the world. Yes, I see it in your eye — 
alien to all finer feelings. So much so was I this 
way that I made enemies where I might have made 
friends, and now I have nowhere to turn. I tell you 
this that you may in some way, if possible, under- 
stand why I brought you here. 

“I heard it whispered among those of my associ- 
ates that I was not only a genius, but had the soul 

of a satyr, and I boasted it in my heart Fool !— - 

I, who had scoffed at what I was pleased to style 
126 


tn point of lionor. 

the weaknesses of men, and felt bored when in their 
presence; felt, in my petty vanity, that I was vastly 
their superior, have come to realize that the sweet- 
est thing in life, and that which gives the most pleas- 
ure, is the companionship of one’s fellows God, 

if I had not thrown those golden moments away! 

“A human derelict, floating on the sea of Life, 
from the port of ‘What might have been’ to — what 
and where is the destination! 

“One evening — it seems so long ago — I was lying 
in my wigwam on a bed of softest rushes and furs, 
which these simple children of the forest have so 
generously prepared for me. The shades of night 
had settled and the village had given itself to slum- 
ber. I lay tossing, thinking, fearing — praying in my 
heart that sleep might bring oblivion. I was grop- 
ing in walks grown desolate, in Hope’s hushed halls. 
Of all the voices that I used to love and hear, there 
was but one left, and, ghost-like, it went haunting 
all the echoing chambers of the past. The voice 
was that of Memory. Memory! Remorse! Memo- 
ry! Remorse! They have almost eaten my heart 
out! Every thought an accusation, every accusa- 
tion a truth; freighted with sarcasm and derision 
when I tried to reason; slow-dropping, burning like 
vitriol ! 

“Suddenly, as I lay there, I became aware of a 
disturbance at the folds of my wigwam. Looking 
in that direction, to my horror, I saw floating in the 
air a human hand, the index finger pointing with ter- 
rible accusation straight at my soul. With a mighty 
effort I sprang up. For one awful moment it was 
thus, but in that moment all the acts and thoughts 
126 


fn point of IKonor. 

of my life passed in review. I saw a human being, 
placed upon the firmest pedestal of God’s Crea- 
tion — Intellect and Reason. I saw him — God, save 
the mark — rise up in his petty vanity and flaunt him- 
self in the face of that Creation. Then, phantom- 
like, a crystal cup was held out to him. ‘I will drink,’ 
he said, ‘a respite ere this poor dumb soul is killed,’ 
— and drained the chalice to the dregs. Then I felt 
my soul loose itself from this earthly shell and go 
bounding down, down to the very brink of hell; and 
the hand went pursuing, racing, gaining. Just before 
my soul reached that awful darkness, another hand 
appeared, small and beautiful, which grasped the 
larger and led it away. Then my soul came back 
to me, and 

“lima! lima, don’t you see? It was a seance 
given unto me, showing me whereby I might save 
my soul. There was but one in all the world like 
the hand that rescued my spirit from utter dark- 
ness — so I went for you. I brought you here, lima, 
that you might take from heaven’s azure the dis- 
grace that sin had painted there.” 

The man ceased speaking. An ominous stillness, 
it seemed to lima, followed. With bated breath she 
looked up. The man’s face was white and set, and 
great, dark circles were beneath the eyes, which 
had an awed, yet wild stare to them. What did it 
mean? Did he really mean and believe all he had 
been saying to her? If he did, then he was 

An Indian flitted past; another — and then another: 
and still others. With a sharp intake of her breath, 
lima arose to her feet. Turning, as if to speak to 
Sussex ,she found that he had gone. Everywhere was 
12Z 


Ifn ipoint of IHonor* 

the wildest confusion; women and children jabbering 
and pointing; armed warriors all rushing in one di- 
rection — toward the river. Wherefore the disturb- 
ance? Where had Betty Ah, yonder she was, 

out there running with all her might toward the tim- 
ber, something closely guarded in her arms. Now 
she has stopped and is stooping by some tangled 
briers. See — she has turned now, and is coming 
hurriedly back to the village. 

A cloud scudded past, and the sun leaped forth. 
A king-fisher, aroused from his seeming lethargy, 
uttered his discordant note, flitted from his perch, 
and for a time shone black against the azure of heav- 
en. A low, monotonous, undefined noise swells upon 
the air, which has something sinister, ominous in it. 
Dull and heavy, it was like the quivering hush before 
the storm. 


128 


CHAPTER XV. 


A FOREST DRAMA. 


M HAT is it, Betty?” asked lima, when 
Betty came up to within speaking 
distance. Betty paused to regain 
her breath before answering. Her 
exertions had exhausted her. 

“A band of armed warriors have appeared on the 
other side of the river and this uproar is the result. 
The Wyandots are now preparing to dispute their 
crossing.” 

“I did not know what had happened, and when I 
saw you running out yonder I was very much fright- 
ened, for I did not know but what they were after 
you. What was that you had in your arms?” 

“Your rifle — but where is Sussex?” 

“He was here just a minute ago, but disappeared 
when this uproar commenced. Betty, beyond a 
doubt, his sins have driven him mad.” 

“Hope they have — ’twould serve him right.^’ 

As before stated, the village was in a state of 
wild confusion. The Wyandots were in a land 
where every band was the enemy of every other 
band, therefore the sudden appearance of another 
war party threw the Wyandots into some disorder. 
In such a time there was little time for parley, so 
upon being apprised of the danger, each warrior 
armed himself as quickly as possible, and rushed to 
the river to dispute the right of way, while the 
squaws, amid the shrieks of the young, the screams 
129 


Ifn ipolnt of lHonor« 

of themselves, and the bowlings of the crones, has- 
tily struck the tents, placed them on pack-poles, 
and othervdse prepared for retreat, should it become 
necessary. Betty stood watching this scene until 
the confusion was at its height, then plucking Ilma’s 
sleeve, she said: 

“It is now, or never — follow me.” 

The village was on the edge of a little patch of 
blue-grass, which touched the river, in all a quarter 
of a mile wide. Woods fringed the patch, in shape 
like a rainbow. The bunch of briers, previously 
spoken of, was on the opposite side from the village, 
and Betty made straight for this brier patch. In 
the confusion she hoped to reach the opposite woods 
and so escape without detection. In a calmer 
moment she would have seen the utter futility of 
such a course, but woman never did stop to reason 
in such a stress. They had perhaps traversed a lit- 
tle over half the distance when lima cast a glance 
backward. 

“My God, Betty, look!” 

Two Indian braves bounded from the village and 
were running after them. Betty made greater ex- 
ertions, and fear added wings to Ilma’s feet. They 
were no match for such fleet runners, however, and 
by the time they had reached the patch of briers 
the Indians were within forty yards. Betty snatched 
the rifle from its hiding place, leveled it quickly, 
and pulled the trigger 

Snap — swish — a black something shot by — an ar- 
row stuck, quivering, in the breast of the Indian at 
whom Betty had aimed. The Wyandot stopped, 
shrank back a little, bended his head until his vision 
150 


Hu point of 1Honor» 

rested upon the place where the arrow had entered* 
took hold of the missive of death with both hands, 
hesitated a moment whether to withdraw it, while 
his countenance darkened with the inextinguishable 
expression of death, blended with the look of ferocity 
and pride of a savage nature. His companion, see- 
ing him stop, halted also, and noting the cause, cast 
round him a look of supernatural awe before at- 
tempting succor 

A man shot by, another, and yet another. With 
quick, powerful strides they went bounding toward 
the two Indians. ’Twas but the work of a moment 
to secure the living, scalp the dead, throw the body 
into the patch of briers, then return to where the 
two girls were standing. lima saw Betty being 
clasp within the arms of her husband, and then a 
hand was laid upon her own arm. She looked up — 
into the eyes of Arthur Howard Noll. She then let 
her gaze wander in a helpless way back to the vil- 
lage, and the expression that instantly overspread 
her face caused them all to turn in alarm. A man 
rushed around the wigwam to where she had been 
sitting, stopped in confusion, then hastily parted the 
folds of the tent. Not finding his object there, he 
turned and his eyes rested upon the party standing 
motionless by the bunch of briers. A frantic, mad 
dash for an hundred yards, then slower and slower, 
until he finally stopped, and wheeling, made the 
same mad dash back. 

“Hugh!” exclaimed Waunatoncah, and turned and 
quickly approached the dark, sombre walls of the 
forest. Soon they were swallowed up in the great 
wilderness, enmeshed in its vast labyrinths; press- 
131 


■ffn point o\ Honor. 

ing deep into the shadowy and silent solitude, guided 
by a purpose and impelled to great exertions by the 
first law of nature — self-preservation. Before 
them, ever as a guide, stood the mountains — battle- 
mented walls upon which the sentinels of Time held 
lookout over the world. Presently they passed 
down into a low basin by the marge of the river, and 
in the shadow of a pilot hill. A vast solitude was 
around them, engulfing a mighty mystery. Travers- 
ing this basin, they came to a thick canebrake, 
through which they labored, suffering much from 
the hot, stifling air. The exertions caused by pass- 
ing through this canebrake were so great as to cause 
them to make a halt in order that Betty and lima 
might rest. 

“Where is father?” asked lima, directing the 
question to Noll. 

“He and some trusty friends are following in our 
wake. They are perhaps now in the mountains, 
and we will probably meet them tomorrow.” 

Waunatoncah soon grew restless, and Kenton 
noting his impatience, suggested that they move on. 

“Yes, yes,” assented lima. “O, I had forgotten 
that we will be followed! The sight of friends had 
driven the terror, the horror from which we have 
just escaped from my mind. Don’t stop to rest on 
our account again, for surely if we withstood the 
fatigue of such a journey to this wilderness, fear 
will enable us to make even greater exertions on 
the return.” 

At length, passing down a long slope, they came 
to a shallow, brawling stream, whose waters went 
dancing over a pebbled bed. Waunatoncah waded 
132 


tn C>oint IHoiior. 

into this stream, followed by the captured Wyandot. 
Seeing the others hesitate, he signified that the step 
was imperative, so they all waded in and followed 
down it until they again came to the Cumberland. 
On the right was a long rocky escarpment, so edg- 
ing the foot of the precipitous hills, they followed 
up the larger stream, at last entering a' deep glen, 
darkened by the overhanging foliage. The sunshine 
and shadows fell in flecks and little patches upon 
them as they passed swiftly, silently under the rust- 
ling branches. Passing from this glen they came 
out upon a tract of open woodland. Everywhere the 
ground was trodden bare by myriad hoofs, and Ken- 
ton knew that he was in the very haunts of those 
countless buffaloes of which Daniel Boone had told 
him. 

“By the Great Horn Spoon, just look!” he ex- 
claimed, as he saw the countless hoof marks, and 
noticed that the cortex of every tree was worn 
smooth and slick where the great sluggish beasts 
had rubbed their itching sides. While Kenton was 
not a slave to his rifle, yet the sirens of the forest 
were alluring, for he was a mighty hunter and the 
sight of game and adventure had great charm for him. 
No amount of danger could have kept his heart 
from leaping at seeing those signs. Soon they com- 
menced passing a few straggling beasts, and pres- 
ently Great Hatchet stopped, assuming a listening 
position. Upon the air was borne a dull roaring 
from a distance. “Bisons!” he uttered, then again 
moved forward. 

A half mile farther on and the tainted air beto- 
kened the propinquity of a salt-sulphur spring, so 
133 


■ffn iJJoint of 'Slonor. 

grateful to the appetites of the gramnivorae. A 
quickening of the pace of the buffaloes was here 
noticed, hundreds of which were in sight. At the 
first whiff of the sulphur vapor borne upon the air, 
they threw up their heads and tails and began to 
press forward at a gallop, bellowing and cavorting 
like they were mad, Waunatoncah plunged straight 
ahead, taking the direction of the buffaloes. Arriv- 
ing in the vicinity of the spring, a wondrous sight 
met their gaze — such a spectacle as was only pos- 
sible under the conditions and the time. Ahead 
was a jam. of scrouging beasts, head to tail, the bel- 
lowings of which was appalling, deep and savage, 
filling the hearer with a sense of helplessness and 
dread. Skirting this jam, the party passed through 
a fringe of cows and smaller kine — staying at the 
rear from a sense of self-preservation. On the 
outskirts of these were a number of great elk, 
stamping and impatient, prone upon the slightest 
provocation, to make their deadly side thrust at the 
younger animals. Wolves and other beasts of prey, 
the constant attendants upon the movements of the 
buffalo herds, were also numerous, ready to pounce 
upon some luckless bull retiring, mortally wounded, 
from an encounter with some other. 

Clearing the ruck, Waunatoncah led the way up 
one hill-side, down into a hollow, and then up anoth- 
er gradual slope. Here they saw being enacted a 
brute drama, the sight of which has been vouch- 
safed to but few mortals; and here Great Hatchet 
halted of his own accord. At their feet lay a basin, 
open at the west and rimmed around with hills, pre- 
cipitous on the southeast. From this basin a strong 
134 


fn B^olnt of THonor. 

odor of sulphuretted hydrogen greeted the nostrils> 
and the entire space was packed and jammed to its 
full capacity with a struggling mass of buffaloes, 
every one of which was striving with might and 
mein to reach the sulphur springs that oozed up 
through the soft, miry alluvial soil in the center. 
The tramping of the myriad of hoofs had changed the 
springs into mud, black and brackish, reeking with the 
odor of sulphur. It was this mud that so crazed the 
sluggish brutes, and into the bog the foremost were 
mired to their sides, fairly scooping up the salty 
muck, as those behind, to the furtherest verge of 
the mass, with a power that was irresistable, were 
pushing, butting and driving them forward, piling 
upon one another like a tidal wave, while their into* 
nations were as the dynamics of distant thunder. 

The ever changing phases of this brute drama 
were such as to make the party heedless of self and 
the dangers of pursuit. But another danger was 
threatening, and, at the time, much more potent. 
A sudden jarring of the ground behind them, caused 
them all to turn. The sight that met their gaze 
was staggering. Another body of beasts, freshly 
arrived, were coming up behind with the fury of a 
cyclone. The rush and roar of the charging mass 
was appalling. The ground trembled beneath the 
jar of the heavy brutes. On they came, neither 
pausing nor swerving at sight of the seven human 
beings in front of them. Man’s vaunted lordship 
over the brute was not counting here. 

Everyone realized that they must clear them- 
selves of this entanglement, or else they would be 
crushed and ground to pieces. There was only one 
135 


Hn point ot IHonor* 

thing to do— take refuge as best they could behind 
the few scattering trees. Fortunately, the first 
tree that presented itself was hollow, and lima and 
Betty were placed within. The white men sought 
shelter close by, while V/aunatoncah swung himself 
into the branches of a tree, motioning to the Wyan- 
dot to place himself face forward against the trunk. 
Head after head of sharp glistening horns shot past, 
and soon joined the main body, piling upon one-an- 
other and crushing the life out of those that were 
so unfortunate as to be thrown from their feet in 
the jam. 

Pressing close upon the rear of this last body of 
beasts, was a large elk, fretted and vengeful. At 
every opportunity he drove his antler into the quar- 
ter of some charging buffalo. At last, a bull whom 
he had plucked, took it into his dull brain to retali- 
ate. Backing himself from the wedged mass, he 
turned the full length of his shaggy side. Quick as 
a flash the elk sprang forward, driving his horn into 
the flank of his would be antagonist. Another quick 
side thrust, as he was passing, and he searched the 
bull’s vitals, carrying off on his horns a chaplet of 
viscera. For a few minutes the bull stood dull and 
staggered, while his life blood poured in a full 
stream from his lacerated side. Then he gradually 
sank down, inch by inch his giant muscles giving 
away. 

This tragedy of the forest, over in a twinkling, 
passed before the eyes of the little party, all re- 
maining motionless until the last throes of death 
had passed over the bull. Waunatoncah then swung 
himself from the tree, passed quickly to the bison’s 
156 


fn t>oint of IHonor. 

side and cut from the rump two large pieces of 
flesh. Handing one piece to Kenton, he took up the 
other himself, and then once again led the way 
through the forest, pressing forward toward the 
precipitous hills on the southeast. 

Did you ever think of it? Perhaps had it not 
been for the buffalo this country would not have 
been what it is today. When civilization began to 
press inland from the Atlantic seaboard he trod a 
path for it with his sharp hoofs. Along that trail he 
was the purveyor of his own flesh for man, and he 
furnished abundantly. 


137 


CHAPTER XVI. 


AMONG THE ECHOING CRAIGS. 

B y sundown Waunatoncah had led the little 
party under the brows of the precipitous 
hills to which he had directed their steps 
— mockers, in their rock-ribbed perma- 
nence, of the mutability of man. Ever and anon 
they had crossed a little brook of translucent waters, 
suggesting the blended flow of countless dew-drops 
and sunbeams. The hills — small mountains within 
themselves — were lofty cliffs of sandstone and had 
been worn into an astonishing variety of forms by 
the actions of the water as it melted from the snow 
and ice of winter and ran down their sides in the 
spring. Here and there were deep caverns and 
vast recesses — peopled with strange, unearthly be- 
ings by Indian imagination. Waunatoncah led the 
way as if familiar with the scene and the route. 

At length he came to an open, rocky stretch, and 
presently stopped at the head of a path leading 
down to, and across, a small canyon an hundred feet 
or more deep, and from twenty-five to thirty feet 
wide. Nature, it seemed, had chiseled out of the 
rock the jagged pass leading down to the little 
stream that danced upon the bed of the canyon, also 
a path up the other side. On the left of this rocky 
pass a bluff arose to a considerable height, over- 
hanging the trail and having at its base a narrow 
ledge som.e four or five feet wide. On the right, at 
138 


Un S>oint THonor. 

about an hundred yards, a hazel thicket set in up a 
gradual slope, a few scattering trees, gnarled and 
rugged, here and there. Great Hatchet followed 
the ledge until he came to the bank of the canyon, 
where the bluff abruptly turned and the ledge 
widened. Turning this angle, they moved under the 
brow for a short distance and then preparations 
were commenced for the night. They were few 
and simple — some blankets being spread for the 
ladies and a bed made from the leaves of the shrub- 
bery for the men. By the time these preparations 
were made and the scanty supper consumed, day- 
light was rapidly disappearing and the recess in 
which they were, assuming a dusky hue, changed 
rapidly into dense shadows that seemed to be draw- 
ing an impenetrable veil over the bosom of the 
world. 

“How dense the shadov/s are!” exclaimed lima. 

“As deep as the wild regret of days past, or for 
hopes that must not be,” Noll answered her. He 
had been thinking of her and how her presence ef- 
fected him. All the winter he had partly realized 
that his feelings for her were deep — growing as 
deep as his heart was. Yet what had he to hope 
for? It could truly be said of him that his soul had 
been plodding through retrospect for the past year. 
It seemed to him that he only had the shattered hulk 
of sad mistakes upon which to build the future. 
His, was a constant inward struggle, a constant pain 
of the heart, and the pursuit had giving him a respite 
from his hopeless thoughts. But now that lima was 
near him again, the same gnawing, hopeless longing, 
unutterable, and, it seemed to him, unavailable, re- 
139 


•ffn |{^o^nt of THonor. 

curred. For the thousandth time he saw the vision 
of, what to him, was a wasted past. The hungry 
maw of inexorable fate was filled with his misfor- 
tunes — his mistakes. 

“A hope that must not be, is an empty hope,” an- 
swered lima. ‘‘An empty hope, instead of satisfy- 
ing the emptiness of lost desire, but adds fuel to 
poignant grief.” And then after a slight pause, she 
asked: ‘‘But why the remark you made? Anoth- 
er fit of melancholy? Does not this gloom, the pic- 
tures of these rugged hills impressed upon the mind, 
the melody of the swishing, gurgling stream below, 
impress you with a sense of awe, at the same time 
blended with pleasure?” 

‘‘That is just it; it does impress me — the perma- 
nence of nature and the mutability of man. I am 
not such a pessimist as to credit those who tell us 
that life, at best, is but little, for to me it is sweet, 
very sweet, else I would not struggle to live. Yet 
it does appear that this little span of life is worth- 
less and empty when we compare it with all that is 
swallowed up in eternity.” 

‘‘Then the contemplation of life tends to make 
you sad?” 

‘‘No, not sad — I do not know just what you would 
call it. The changeableness of the life of man, as 
of everything else bearing life, impresses me with 
its mystery. Why the devious wanderings of a soul? 
Why the trepidations, the achievments, the defeats; 
why the splendor and the gloom?” 

‘‘Such questions are for old men ” 

‘‘Or for younger ones who have been suddenly 
torn from the bloom and dew of morning.” 

140 


Hn point of IHonor. 

“That reminds me Your life must have been 

sad, and the trials hard to bear, before coming 
among us. You must know that I would like to 
hear your story — will you tell it to me some time?” 

“Yes, at the first opportunity. I am afraid, how- 
ever, that it will not show me in the light in which I 
should wish to appear in your eyes. It is the story 
of a great mistake.” 

“I am not one to credit a mistake, where the pur- 
pose or intention was good, and the man’s life has 
been profited by it.” 

“Do you mean that?” 

“Yes.” 

“And do you in any way realize what hope your 
words kindle in my heart?” 

“There can be no hope in your heart but what 
finds echo in mine.” 

To Noll, her voice had a marvelous melody to it; 
a something that thrilled the soul — suggesting a 
theme of passionate things — a dream as yet un- 
dreamed. 

Kenton here joined the party, coming from out 
the gloom with an armful of brush-wood, which he 
heaped upon the fire, making it crackle and sputter 
into brighter flames. 

“Look here, people,” he admonished, “we must 
get as much sleep as possible, for at moonrise we 
must travel, and that fast, if we would escape those 
red varmints.” 

“Will they attempt to follow us over such a trail?” 
asked Noll, incredulously. 

“Follow us!” the hunter exclaimed. “An Ameri- 
141 


Hn ^oint Honor. 

can Indian would chase you to the brink of Hades, 
and then set up a derisive, mocking laugh if you 
dodged him there and let him slip over in your 
stead.” 

Without waiting for any further remark, Kenton 
stretched himself upon the bed of leaves. The oth- 
ers soon sought their rest, and presently, all but 
Waunatoncah were fast asleep. The Indian, seeing 
that all were lost in slumber, silently arose, and 
making his way along the ledge, was soon at the 
head of the little pass that led across the canyon. 
Here he took up a position, assuming a vigilance that 
denoted that he was apprehensive of the approach 
of the Wyandots at any moment. For six hours he 
patiently sat, until the moon came out. Then it 
was that his vigilance was awarded 

A naked figure stepped out into the moonlight 
from the shrubbery that fringed the stretch of rock. 
It was followed by a double; then another and an- 
other until sixteen swarthy forms loomed up against 
the orb of night. Last, and bringing up the rear, 
was Captain William Sussex. 

By one of those strange turns of the hand of fate, 
just as Sussex stepped out upon the rock, Kenton 
arose and put some fresh wood upon the fire. The 
smoke shot upward to the summit of the bluff, was 
caught by the passing wind and wafted to the nos- 
trils of the Wyandots. Quick as thought each and 
every one of them was prostrate upon the rock, 
worming his way back into the bush. Waunatoncah 
seeing this, and divining that something had revealed 
their presence to the enemy, sat irresolute for a 
minute. Then, noticing that Sussex was yet 
142 


Un Hioint of IHcnov. 

standing, he raised his rifle, took a quick, uncertain 
aim and fired. Sussex uttered an exclamation of 
pain, swayed and tottered for a moment, when a 
swarthy form shot forward and supported him back 
from whence he had appeared. 

The crack of the rifle, breaking upon the narrow 
bounds of the cliffs, was heard undulating up the 
caverns in distant and dying cadences — a signal, 
wherein the sleepers aroused from their slumber by 
its echoes, knew that they were soon to battle 
against death. Leaving the two girls in the shelter 
of the bluffs, Kenton led the way out and joined the 
Sagamore. 

“What is it?” he asked in a guarded tone. 

“Wyandots,” the chief cautiously answered. 

“But why the shot?” 

“They know we are here and I wanted to make 
their number less.” 

“Did you succeed?” 

“There is one who will not fight with the rest.” 

“Where are they?” 

A flight of arrows, rattling upon the rocks, an- 
swered the question. The arrows were followed 
by a few desultory shots from rifles. 

“To cover!” commanded Kenton, setting the ex- 
ample by secreting himself in a crevice of the rocks. 
Each one placed himself in a fissure so as to com- 
mand a view of all approaches, while their own per- 
sons were effectually concealed from the observa- 
tion of any prying eye. A long and anxious watch 
then followed, but without any evidence of attack. 
Noll began to hope that the enemy had abandoned 
the pursuit, but upon venturing to give expression 
143 


•ffn ipoint of IHonor. 

to his impression, he was met by an incredulous 
shake from Kenton’s head. 

“An Indian is very much like a dreaded disease,” 
he said — “he is often not seen at all, but felt.” 

With the coming of dawn the Wyandots showed 
signs of life. The first indication of them called 
forth an expressive “hugh!” from Waunatoncah, as 
they came dodging from one rock to another, and 
from bush to bush. 

“I see ’em. Hatchet, I see ’em,” said Kenton. 
“Let ’em come. Make sure of your aim, boys. 
See that painted devil dart in behind that rock — take 
him, Noll. Silas, you take the dingy scamp peering 
out behind that log. Waunatoncah, watch the ap- 
proach on the right there — look out — they are gath- 
ering for the rush — better give it to ’em now, it will 
check their movement and give us time to reload.” 

The rifles rang out almost in unison, and then 
each fell to reloading as rapidly possible. Two of 
the Wyandots were badly hit, and the others bounded 
back to a safer distance. 

“I thought it would check their progress,” ex- 
claimed Kenton, as he noted the effect of the shots. 
“Didn’t expect to hurt ’em much, but thought that 
maybe we might wing ’em, or bark ’em. Your 
barked animal is more timersome and skittish,” he 
further said, dexteriously wrapping a square patch 
of cloth around his bullet and ramming it home. Af- 
ter adjusting the flint, and seeing that the priming 
was in good order, he added: “Now let ’em come! 
I’ve got a load in here that will bring down anything 
at a hundred yards, even if it were the devil himself.” 

As though in answer to his words a yell arose on 
144 


■ffn point of IHonor, 

the air as wild, as intense, and as savage as the re- 
vengeful natures of their enemies could conceive. 
The craigs reverberated the horrid yells, and for a 
moment it seemed as if the imps with which the In- 
dian imagination peopled the caverns had possessed 
themselves of the air and were exulting over the 
fall of some hapless human soul. These yells had 
been called forth from the Wyandots by the return 
of their hit fellows. It seemed that only a few had 
made the first hazard. 

“Blate, you red devils! Awaken the caverns 
with echoes! If one of you but show your painted 
carcass within the line of the hazel-brush, these 
rocks will re-echo with your death-screech!” Ken- 
ton said, sweeping the thickets with eagle eye for 
another foe. 

“The Wyandots are like a flock of ravens upon the 
approach of an eagle — they are all fuss and no 
fight,” scoffed the Sachem, in soft, gutteral tones. 

It was near noon before another move was made 
by the Wyandots. Glimpes could be caught of 
them as they came darting from bush to rock anti 
from rock to bush. They were taking up a position 
so as to form a continuous line stretching for an 
hundred yards to the right and left. The situation 
was now indeed becoming grave, for it looked as if 
the whole band of savages were about to charge at 
once. There was nothing to do but to sell their 
lives as dearly as possible, and this they resolved to 
do. Quickly maturing their plans, they commenced 
a vigorous fire from the front. The warriors availed 
themselves of the rocks and bushes, yet, in passing, 
they must be exposed for a moment, and a moment’s 
145 


■ffn point of THonor» 

exposure was enough for the unerring bullets of 
John Kenton and Silas Wilkins to find lodgment in 
their swarthy forms. So sure and certain were the 
shots, though at too great a distance to be fatal, 
that the Wyandots grew very cautious as they ad- 
vanced, all halting just before reaching the edge of 
the thicket. 

“It’s a good hundred yards to the brush, boys,” 
said Kenton, “and if we are careful we may yet save 
the day. Each one prepare his bullet and pour out 
a charger of powder, so that it will be handy. Save 
your fire until the devils rise to rush on us, then let 
’em have it. That will give us time to reload.” 

An anxious moment then followed, but the Wyan- 
dots showed no further signs of a rush. 

“They are waiting for a signal,” said Wilkins, and 
almost accompanying his words a low murmur was 
heard passing from one Wyandot to another. 

“There — there it is — be ready, boys,” cautioned 
Kenton. 

“Hugh!” exclaimed Waunatoncah, for instead of 
the rush as was expected, it was noted that the 
warriors were rapidly retreating back to covert. 

“What’s the matter, now?” asked Noll. 

“Scared, perhaps,” answered Kenton. 

“Don’t know how many there are in this ambush- 
ment, maybe,” commented Wilkins. 

The release from their tension was only short- 
lived, however, for they soon discovered the cause 
of the withdrawal. The foe was preparing to attack 
them on the flank, which could be most successfully 
done by reaching the farther side of the canyon. A 
large isolated rock was on that side, just where the 
146 


■ffn point of lionor* 

pass and canyon intersected. Once behind this rock, 
the Wyandots could bring the little party under di- 
rect fire, at the same time exposing the position of 
the two girls, and placing them at the mercy of the 
now infuriated demons. Each one saw the hope- 
lessness of the situation. A shudder passed over 
each frame at the impending fate; a shadow of fear 
echoed in each eye. Yet, such is human nature, 
that even with such an awful doom hanging over 
them they remained as calm and as calculating as 
the strongest desire of life could produce. 

147 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE BIRD OF FREEDOM. 

H TALL, powerful warrior stepped from the 
covert out into the open, some thirty- 
five feet from the brink of the cavern. 
He was all of one hundred and twenty- 
five yards from the head of the pass — too far for a 
successful shot, being down the chasm some dis- 
tance from the indicated rock. 

“Does that dare-devil really intend to leap that 
chasm?” asked Moll. 

“Yes, and he’ll do it to, unless Providence inter- 
venes,” answered Kenton. 

The Wyandot stepped to the brink, measured the 
distance across with his eye, then walked back far 
enough to make the dash before attempting the aw- 
ful leap. 

“The calculating imp!” grimly exclaimed Kenton, 
as he raised his rifle. Although the distance was 
great and the chances slim, yet he resolved to fire. 
Once, twice he raised and lowered the piece before 
touching the trigger — but instead of striking fire the 
flint broke into many parts. With the utmost com- 
posure he proceeded to adjust another, although he 
knew the Indian would be off before he succeeded. 

The Wyandot gathered every muscle for the 
start. A few quick, short steps, then the dash, and 
the body bounded into the air with the supleness of 
a panther. He fell short of the shelf, however, but 
148 


Hn point of THonor. 

his hand, reaching out, grasped a shrub on the verge 
of the chasm, and here he clung with the agility of a 
squirrel. Without exhausting himself in fruitless 
efforts, the wily savage let his body drop down al- 
most to the length of his arms. In this position his 
feet, searching about, found a fragment upon which 
to rest. After breathing, he summoned all his pow- 
ers in the attempt to reach the top. He so far suc- 
ceeded as to draw one knee upon the edge. Seeing 
his success, his companions made the chasms fairly 
ring with their exultant and derisive taunts. 

This was too much for Waunatoncah. Leaping 
from his hiding place in full view upon the rocks, he 
sent back the intimidating yells once, twice, thrice 
with the fierce war cry of the Massawomekes. Noll, 
Kenton and Wilkins were in the act of following his 
example, and making a dash for their foe, when the 
whip-like crack of a rifle arrested them 

The body of the Wyandot dropped forward; his 
knee slipped from the position which it had gained- 
A short, fitful struggle to regain it, and then the 
form of the savage was seen to be gradually giving 
way — slipping back. Turning a relentless look at 
Waunatoncah, the Wyandot shook a hand in grim 
defiance. Alternately he looked from friend to foe. 
For one moment the anguish of cold despair could 
be traced upon his swarthy lineaments, then he shot 
with swift velocity into his abysmal grave. Some 
unknown hand had fired the shot, and it seemed that 
an hundred voices took up the death cry. 

The warrior, evidently, was a prominent one and a 
leader, for each one of his companions rushed for- 
ward to the edge of the brink and looked over in 
149 


11 n point of THonor. 

awed silence for a moment. Then a single bestial 
yell, more like the blended grief and unrestrained 
anger of some wild thing, floated upon the air. 
Grimly the warriors walked back to the edge of the 
covert, casting low, sullen glances at the place 
where WaunaJtoncah had stood. 

“We’ll have to plug the last living varlet of ’em 
now, before we can get out of this scrape,’’ com- 
mented Wilkins. 

“If they don’t plug us first,” was Kenton’s re- 
joinder. 

“Is another one of them going to risk his life in 
such an attempt!” exclaimed Noll, as he saw an- 
other warrior hand over his gun, divest himself of 
all accoutrements, and step forth for the trial. 

Some moments now flew by with the swiftness 
of thought. Both friend and foe stood in breathless 
silence watching the movements of the second Wy- 
andot. He also measured the distance with his eye 
before the run. Suddenly, he crouched like a beast 
of prey and sprang forward. He had perhaps made 
a dozen bounds when a woman stepped into view at 
the square turning of the ledge, an upraised rifle 
in her hands. She was excited, no doubt, for the 
rifle was shaking like an aspen leaf, but the surround- 
ing rocks, themselves, were not more steady than 
the piece became for the single instant it poured 
forth its fatal contents. The savage shot forward 
to the edge of the brink, then his body, gathering it- 
self like a ball, sped downward after its predecess- 
or. For one single instant his painted figure was 
seen splitting the air, head downward, in its rapid 

flight to destruction Betty Wilkins had stepped 

160 


IFn ipoint of THonor. 

upon the scene of action with a rifle of the finest 
workmanship, all inlaid with silver and pearl. A 
wild burst from the lips of Great Hatchet and his 
white friends greeted her appearance. 

This caused consternation among the Wyandots, 
and brave as they unquestionably were, there was 
no one else among them willing to attempt that 
which had cost the others so dearly. Feeling that 
they had no ordinary foe to combat among those 
echoeing craigs the savages withdrew a short dis- 
tance up the slope to consult upon, and devise a 
new method of attack. They stopped in full view, 
close to a ragged tree that had grown upon the very 
edge of the chasm, its trunk inclining outward so 
much that the larger limbs overhung the center of 
the gorge. Seeing them stop thus, Waunatoncah 
leaped upon the rocks and, shaking his rifle at them, 
he shouted: 

“The Wyandots are dogs! Their men are women! 
Their bodies will lie rotting about the rocks and in 
the caverns for food for the buzzards!” 

His taunt was answered by a volley from the 
rifles of the foe as if they would pour out their im- 
potent fury upon the insensible air. 

The respite which followed came most opportune 
for the beseiged. They had been watching and 
fighting hour after hour with neither food nor drink. 
Taking advantage of this opportunity, each one went 
down to the little stream, drank all he wanted, and 
then filled his bottle. After this, all joined the two 
girls on the ledge and a luncheon was partaken of 
buffalo steak and parched com. 

“How long will this last?” asked Noll, who had 
151 


•ffn point 0^ THonor. 

yet to learn of the full methods of Indian warfare. 

“Until the last lopin’ devil yonder is killed, or 
hurt, or until they master our scalps,” answered 
Wilkins. 

“It seems to me that they should have enough of 
it — two of their number killed and — how many are 
there that are wounded?” 

“Three,” answered the Sachem, “two Indians and 
the pale-face chief.” 

“Then it was Sussex at whom you shot this 
morning?” 

“Yes, he now lies in the bushes.” 

Some time was here occupied with the captured 
Wyandot. The fetters which bound his arms and 
legs were unloosed, and he was allowed to stretch 
his stiffened sinews. Some parched corn and broiled 
meat was placed before him, also some water. 
Of the water he drank greedily, but proceeded with 
calm indifference to partake of the food. 

“Hurry up, Wyandot, hurry up!” impatiently com- 
manded Kenton. “It’s no telling when those imps 
yonder may return, and we cannot leave those hands 
and legs of yours free while attending to them;” 
whereupon, the Indian quickened his movements 
and ate a hearty meal. 

Kenton had just finished retying the captive when 
the expressive “hugh!” from Great Hatchet called 
for his attention. Quickly facing toward the Wyan- 
dots, he saw one of their number slowly climbing 
the ragged tree previously spoken of. Reaching a 
large limb that stretched out over the chasm, and 
inclining a little to the left, the savage made his 
way cautiously until he had reached far out upon the 
162 


1In point of IHonor. 

branch. Above him was the blue vaults of heaven; 
below, was an abysmal depth an hundred feet. 
Breathlessly the whites stood watching him. This 
feat, itself, was so daring that they hardly allowed 
themselves to breath, forgetting for the moment 
their own position in the awful speculation — if he 
were to lose his wits and fall. Gaining the desired 
point, the Indian daringly perched himself upon the 
limb and commenced unwinding from around his 
waist a rawhide rope that had been made by tying 
the prisoner’s strings together he had secured from 
each of his fellows. In one end was a loop, which 
he let drop down; the other he securely tied to the 
limb upon which he was sitting. Doing this, he 
swung his body across the limb, let himself drop 
down almost to the full length of his arms, the rope 
coming between his legs. Then he commenced let- 
ting himself down. 

“God in heaven!” breathed Noll in awe, “that is 
certainly a prodigy of cool, calculating rashness.” 

“The human that can do that certainly takes hold 
of life as by a thread,” answered Silas. 

“Yes, if I was just nigh enough, I would snip the 
thread and let him drop into his grave,” followed 
from Kenton, as he opened and shut the pan of his 
rifle with a hand that trembled in a manner that 
would have denoted its utter inability to carry out 
such a task. 

Forming a beautiful background to this scene, and 
one calculated to add more impressively to the 
mind, were masses of steel-white clouds, rolling and 
toppling in terrific, yet grand, disorder, with sun- 
kissed edges. A flock of wild pigeons, passing, 
153 


■ffn ipotnt 0^ IHonor. 

shown like black moving specks against the rolling 
canvass. 

The savage carefully placed his foot within the 
loop. For a moment he remained passive, the cur- 
rents of air gently swaying his body to and fro. 
Then he commenced to “pump” so as to acquire a 
swing back and forth across the chasm. Patiently 
and industriously he labored, each effort increasing 
the pendulum.-like sweep of his body. The length 
of the rope was so judged as to allow the loop to 
pass just over each bank. 

“The fool is oscillating between the open jaws of 
death,” said Noll. “Suppose that rope breaks?” 

“Yes, but it won’t break; it’s made of raw-hide,” 
Wilkins answered him. 

The clouds, as if tired of their terrific gambol, 
were breaking assunder; hovering around the distant 
peaks like broken flocks of birds going to their 
roost. An eagle screamed, as he mounted from his 
eyry to soar aloft in the heavens. Screaming and 
wheeling he mounted for a moment, and then, as if 
impelled by some sudden impulse, he poised upon 
his fluttering pinions almost directly over the swing- 
ing Indian. 

“An eagle!” said the Sagamore. 

“The bird of freedom!” breathed lima. 

“An omen!” answered Betty. 

“Liberty!” faltered Kenton. 

“Or death!” echoed Noll. 

The incidents of the next few minutes passed in 
such rapid succession that it is hard to relate them 
in their proper order, and with accuracy, so just a 
154 


11 n point of THonor. 

sketch will be made, leaving most of the details 
to be filled in by the reader. First, following Noll’s 
words, was a rattling volley of musketry. The 
Wyandots gathered upon the slope were seen to 
stagger, some pitching headlong, others bounding 
off, while yet others, dropping to the ground, com- 
menced dragging themselves to the friendly cover. 
The savage clinging to the rope, loosened his hold, 
threw up both hands, his body describing a half-cir- 
cle in its downward movement. His foot, however, 
slipped through the loop, and, instead of being hurled 
into the depths below, was thus supported. The 
momentum, which he had acquired, swung his body 
with awful force, and his head went crashing once, 
twice, against the walls of the chasm. 

Accompanying, rather than following, the volley 
of musketry, was a lusty shout from American 
throats, and some thirty men were seen leaping 
from behind the rocks and shrubbery on the oppo- 
site side of the canyon. Colonel Cecil Fairfax in their 
midst. The scene that followed can better be 
imagined than described. 

“Father, your appearance was most timely.” 

“Daughter, I always try to be prompt in my obli- 
gations,” answered the Colonel, tears of gladness 
springing to his eyes, as he folded lima in his arms. 
“Ah, boys, a trail is most treacherous in the moun- 
tains. A little more delay, and we would have been 
too late.” 

“We would have held them in check for some 
time, sir.” 

“I’d bank on you, Kenton, you and the three 
155 


■ffn point of IHonor. 

companions you have had with you.*’ 

“We would have disputed a good while, sir, as to 
which party of us was the most deserving to die,” 
said Wilkins, “although it did look slim for us when 
that Indian was so near stepping upon yonder side.” 

“I’ll warrant the truth of that statement,” replied 
the Colonel, turning to look at the body of the Wy- 
andot yet swinging back and forth over the chasm. 

“Shall we leave the body there?” asked Wilkins. 

“We are Christian gentlemen, sir, and bury the 
dead,” was the reply. 

“It will be a hazardous undertaking to rescue that 
carcass,” ventured Kenton. 

Just then one of the men who had accompanied 
the Colonel stepped out in view upon the slope. He 
surveyed the swinging body for a while, then delib- 
erately raised his rifle. Although there was a gen- 
eral movement on the part of those around the Col- 
onel as if they would check him, he fired. The ten- 
sion of the raw-hide, made by the weight of the In- 
dian’s body, was such as to cause the bullet to act 
like a sharp knife; the line parted and the Wyandot 
dropped like lead into the abyss below. 

“’Twas inhuman,” hotly exclaimed the Colo- 
nel, starting forward. He just as suddenly checked 
himself, however, for he caught sight of a number of 
men bringing the wounded Sussex out from where 
his Indian friends had placed him. They were fol- 
lowed by Waunatoncah, a disappointment which he 
was nobly trying to conceal, manifest upon his fea- 
tures. 

“Here, sir,” spoke up one of the bearers, “is the 
murderin’ white devil you told us about. He has 
156 


ITn ipoint of THonor. 

had his leg broken by a bullet and now has fever. 
He was raving like a maniac when we found him.” 

“Father, the man is mad. It is not the fever that 
makes him so, but his sins.” 

“Lay him upon that smooth rock there — not upon 
the naked rock, boys — spread a blanket for him,” 
commanded the Colonel. “I cannot strike a de- 
mented man, and sick at that.” 

Just then the attention was again attracted by the 
return of some men who had gone in behind the 
ledge, the captured Wyandot in their midst. 

“What have we here?” the Colonel asked in 
amazement. 

Noll told him, explaining when and how they had 
captured the red-skin. After this the Colonel 
v/'alked back and forth several times in deep study, 
pausing once or twice to cast a troubled look upon 
Sussex. The company stood respectfully awaiting 
his pleasure to speak; it being his right to say what 
should be done with the Englishman — and the Mas- 
sawomeke’s. 

“What say you, Waunatoncah?” he finally asked 
in a husky voice — the full force of all the hours of 
anguish this man had caused him returning. 

“The heart of Great Hatchet is very heavy,” re- 
plied the chief. “The Great Spirit has turned His 
face from the chief of the Massawomekes.” 

Colonel Fairfax looked puzzled and turned an 
inquiring face to Kenton. 

“He means that you may do with him as you like, 
sir. The hand of an Indian never strikes an idiot, 
knowingly.” 

“What would you council then, Kenton?” 

157 


■ffn point o\ IHonor. 

“Leave him here upon the rocks. Set the Wyan- 
dot free and he will take care of him. In fact, it is 
a part of a reds-skin’s religion to deal tenderly with 
those whom the Master of life has so afflicted.” 

“Water!” feebly implored Sussex, wetting his 
parched lips with his tongue. 

“Yes, I’ll give you water,” said Kenton, unsling- 
ing his leather canteen, “though the Lord knows 
that a month ago 1 would have preferred handing 
you a cup of gall. Such is the way of man, howev- 
er. Many has been the time that I have eagerly 
sought the life of some creature and then bitterly 
regretted it after the bullet had found its vitals. I 
feel sorry for you, Englishman, though by all the 

laws known to man you ought to be shot Does 

that plan suit you. Colonel?” 

“I can think of none better.” 

“Shall Great Hatchet make known your wishes 
to the Wyandot?” 

“Yes.” 

“You have heard what has passed. Great Hatchet, 
and know what the white father wishes. Speak to 
the red varlet here in his own tongue and tell him 
that the pale-face knows that a Wyandot laughs at 
the tortures of the stake — tell him that it is not 
their custom to practice torture anyway. Tell him 
that we want him to take the pale-face chief back 
with him and there keep him until he dies.” 

With gloomy dignity Waunatoncah turned toward 
the released captive. A frightful gleam of ferocity 
shot across the swarthy lineaments of the Wyandot 
as the chief did this, but he quickly subdued it upon 
the first words that were uttered to him. Trans- 
158 


Iln l^oint of THonor. 

lated, Waunatoncah’s words were as follows: 

“Look at me, Wyandot, and then go home and tell 
your women that you have seen a chief. The blood 
of many chiefs runs in my veins. Chief of the Mas- 
sawomekes, fiercest tribe of all nations. I have 
seen my fathers fall like leaves before the guns of 
the pale-face, and I have gathered their bones on 
the hunting grounds of the Indian. Show me the 
nation with whom my people have not fought. Yet 
has the Great Spirit turned his face from the great- 
est of all chiefs.” 

A multitude of fierce passions were struggling on 
the tawny countenance of the Wyandot, as though 
he would dispute the other’s claim, to being the 
greatest of all chiefs, subsiding, however, as Wau- 
natoncah, in the characteristic language of the In- 
dian, began to deleneate the story of his wrong. 
The Wyandot assumed a grave and dignifie^d atten- 
tion as he listened. In closing. Great Hatchet said: 

“The Great Spirit made the Indian and the pale - 
face. He gave them the breath of life. A warrior 
can never die. The Master of life does not reach 
forth His hand to take that He has given. When He 
wants one of them He calls them and they go. His 
breath is the spirit of life, and the being whom He 
has breathed upon lives forever. Upon some He 
places a deep sleep when He wants them; they are 
dead. Others, He only takes their spirit, leaving 
their mouths full of empty and foolish words. An 
Indian dare not strike such an one, for the released 
spirit might be close by and would bear the message 
of the cowardly act to the ears of the Great Spirit. 
The Indian would be shut out from the blessed 
159 


■ffn ipoint ot THonor. 

grounds of his people. Listen! Wyandot, my white 
haired father says you must take the pale-face chief 
back to your people and there feed him until the 
Great Spirit wants his body. I have spoken. I turn 
my face toward the wigwams of my people.” 

The Massawomeke turned and waived his hand 
in a mute adieu to his whits friends, a mighty emo- 
tion being expressed in the action. Without a word 
of parting he faced toward the north — toward the 
land of his people. A hand bearing the weight of 
ages was pressing heavy upon his spirit — supersti- 
tion. The company watched him until he was lost 
to view in the shrubbery, then they also took up the 
trail for home. Arriving upon the farther side of 
the canyon, they all turned and cast a last look upon 
the scene they had just quitted. Sussex was yet 
stretched out upon the blanket — wounded in body 
and mind. His red partisan, looking the very em-- 
blem of death, was standing where they had left 
him. 

No crime deserves eternal punishment. Eternal 
punishment would be the greatest of all crimes. 
Sin chastens no less than sorrow. 

160 


CHAPTER XVIIL 


THE SUPREME MOMENT. 

was a day in June. The heat quivered up 
■I from the river and in the open. The odor 
II of flowers hung heavily upon the air, seem- 
ing in a way to obstruct its free passage 
into the nostrils. The leaves had drooped upon 
their stems and the birds had sought the cool, shady 
nooks down by the river. A pleasant somnolence 
embraced the lazy world. 

Slowly winding its way up the graveled driveway 
to Fairfax Hall was a bedraggled party, tired and 
footsore. Under the great arches of the trees the 
heat lay still. Not a sign of life could be seen any- 
where. Even the old house with its wide piazzas, 
espaliered by rows of boxwood, and overhung by 
great drooping branches, took on the langorous 
quiet. Suddenly from out the cavernous shade of 
the porch fluttered an old lady. She was followed 
by a group of turbaned heads, grinning with ebullient 
joy. The party quickened its pace, and the lady 
fairly sped over the ground, meeting the party long 
before it had reached the inner gate. One after the 
other she folded several members in her arms, aW 
most smothering them with kisses. Then there fol- 
lowed a perfect chatter of voices — amid tears of 
joy. 

“Home!” said the Colonel, with a long-drawn, 
grateful sigh. 


161 


ITn point 0^ IHonor. 

“The sweetest word that ever was uttered,” re- 
turned his daughter. 

“I had begun to think that it would never be the 
same home to me again, or at least that it would 
lose its sweeter meaning,” answered Mrs. Fairfax. 

“Even so, Madam,” returned her husband, hand- 
ing her through the doorway with a tender smile. 

As was but natural, the next two hours at Fair- 
fax Hall were filled with aninfectuous unrest. The 
negro servants scurried hither and thither with im- 
portant air. Gradually the great hall of the man- 
sion was filled with the buzz of many voices, each 
pausing upon meeting another to impart some item 
that had been gleaned from the conversation of their 
masters. Soon the great dining room — only such a 
dining room as was possible in colonial days — was 
filled, and the buzz of voices was augmented by 
the rattle of dishes. 

Some time after, Colonel Fairfax and Noll, emerg- 
ing from different entrances, met upon the porch. 

“A refreshing bath, a change to clean linen, and a 
good wholesome meal has a tendency to rest one 
vastly, Mr. Noll.” 

“It does that, sir.” 

Lady Fairfax joined them. 

“We are thirsting for the news of the land, 
Madam,” said the Colonel as he conducted her to a 
spacious arm chair. 

“A messenger passed this forenoon and told of 
the taking of Ticonderoga and Crown Point by ” 

“Taking of Ticonderoga — there has been fighting!” 

“Why yes; havn’t you heard?” 

“Heard — Madam, we have been in the wilderness 
162 


Hn point ot Tlonor. 

for over forty days, and could not possibly have 
heard anything!” 

“That’s so — you have not even heard of the first 
battle, have you?” 

“We have heard absolutely nothing.” 

“Over a month ago at a little place called Lex- 
ington the British were almost cut to pieces, only a 
few of the Americans being killed. The result has 
fired the whole country and fully twenty thousand 
men have gathered around Boston. The common 
talk is to run Gage and the British into the sea.” 

“Hear that, sir! Gads, I told you there would be 
no peaceable adjustment Proceed, Madam.” 

“Generals Howe, Clinton, and Burgoyne have 
joined Gage, bringing with them powerful re-inforce- 
ments. A thing that has caused much derision is a 
proclamation just recently issued by Gage declaring 
all those under arms as rebels and traitors to the 
King, and offering to pardon those who would sub- 
mit — Samuel Adams and John Hancock excepted.” 

“What, Sam Adams and John Hancock excepted!” 

“Yes, they are to suffer the penalty of treason.” 

“The foppish, arrogant fool ! There is always a 
catching before a hanging!” 

Noll sat looking out across the grove — at nothing. 
He had heard every word although at times seem- 
ingly unconscious. A choking sensation had pos- 
session of him. He felt that the supreme moment 
was near at hand. He had pitted judgment against 
hope and judgment had won. Soon he would be 
called upon to give practical expression to the state- 
ments he had made in the presence of George Wash- 
ington and Patrick Henry. But at the time he had 
163 


•ffn ipoint of THonor. 

made them, had he allowed himself to be confronted 
with all his words might mean in case of actual 
test? Gould he banish the traditions of his race; 
the love of his native land; the 

A vision of lovliness floated from out the door- 
way. The swirl of her silk was like the mythical 
music of angels’ wings. To Noll, the vision was 
like a dream of delight bursting upon dark ponder- 
ings. 

“Sir,” cried the vision, advancing toward Noll — 
“Ah, I forget !” making a sweeping bow to her pa- 
rents: “Father, mother, allow me to assume the 
honor of presenting to you. Sir. Arthur Howard Noll, 
peer of any in England, being next to blood-royal, 
Earl of Lonsdale, and belted and knighted by the 
King, himself. Now sir, I beg a continuance of that 
story which was interrupted on last evening.” 

Without waiting for an assent she placed a hand 
upon his arm and gently shoved him down the mass- 
ive stone steps in the direction of a summer house 
overlooking some broad terraces to the left of the 
Hall, casting a bewitching smile over her shoulder 
at her parents as they left the mansion. 

“Let me see — I believe you had arrived at that 
period in your life leading up to the terrible tragedy 
referred to in Lady Bolinbroke’s letter?” 

“Yes, I believe so.” 

“It must have taken an iron will to have with- 
stood the effects of such a tragedy.” 

“You shall hear the story and judge for yourself.” 

“I am listening,” she answered, as she adjusted 
herself to a comfortably position upon a rustic seat. 

“As you perhaps know,” he began, “in fact as 
164 


lln point of Honor. 

every subject under the British crown knows, the 
Duke of Cumberland, William Augustus, is a way- 
ward, worthless, yet dashing, devil-may-care young 
man that finds his pleasure in riotous living — in being 
a ‘good fellow’ among good fellows, rather than as a 
ceremonious and perhaps lascivious prince among 
the courtiers and ladies of the court. He greatly 
affects the hazards and excitement of the cards and 
dice, together with the free, wild life of the gambler 
and spends most of his time in low lodges with un- 
princely retainers to the neglect of his puissant 
brother’s expressed wishes and commands. He is 
hot-headed, uhruly, lacking in point of honor and 
greatly overbearing. Naturally he has a great many 
enemies, many of whom are constantly seeking his 
ruin or disfavor with the King. It is with one of 
these attempts that I have to deal and, looking back, 
I can see now how unnecessary was my sacrifice. 

“As you are aware, England and France are ever 
at loggerheads; each is constantly watching the 
other, and the result is that diplomatic relations are 
ever at a strain. Therefore when Bourgogne suc- 
ceeded Valincour as ambassador to England, there 
were those who feared a coup-d’e-tat on the part of 
the French King — Bourgogne being accounted the 
leading diplomat in French circles. 

“Now there arrived in London almost simultane- 
ously with Bourgogne a woman of great beauty and 
elegant carraige. She became associated with the 
French legation, and set all London wild with her 
beauty. I was away at the time of her coming on 
business connected with one of my father’s estates 
in Scotland; a business that detained me for some 
165 


■ffn point of THonor. 

time. In the meantime Mademoiselle Avice Noailles, 
as was her name, had established a little court all 
her own and among her most constant attendants 
was the Duke of Cumberland. When I arrived in 
London his attentions to the lady were so marked 
as to cause grave apprehension at court. You see, 
Mademoiselle was not the woman whom the King 
would choose for his wayward brother, even if she 
was beautiful. 

“When it became known that Bourgogne was as- 
siduously, though secretly, working to bring about a 
union of the two, the apprehension became grave 
indeed, and the King was at his wits-end to devise 
a means to thwart it. The Duke brought about the 
desired result himself. Although unscrupulous, yet 
he is brave and dogged when aroused. He fancied 
some slight on the part of Mademoiselle, conse- 
quently a breach was made between them. Natur- 
ally the King worked hard to widen the breach while 
Bourgogne worked equally as hard to bring about a 
reconciliation. The King won, however, finally in- 
trusting the Duke with a diplomatic service to the 
court of Spain. 

“This move on the part of the King was met by 
an open and angry remonstrance on the part of 
Bourgogne. He declared that one of the first ladies 
of France had been insulted and shamefully mis- 
treated by the House of Hanover. The French 
King threatened to sever diplomatic relations unless 
suitable reparations were made in the way of apolo- 
gy or otherwise. You will easily see that laboring 
under strained relations, made more tense by this 
little episode — though only a pretext on the part of 
166 


fln point of IHonor, 

Bourgogne; the two countries might easily have been 
precipitated into war. Owing to the turbulent state 
of her colonies such a condition would have proven 
most disastrous to England. Therefore the King 
began groping about for some means to palliate the 
evil. Unfortunately for me, I was the one upon 
whom his hand fell. 

“Now I must tell you that I had met Mademoiselle 
many times at court receptions and different funct- 
ions at which we both participated. I’ll admit that 
I was facinated with her brilliance, her beauty, and 
her wit, yet at times I could not help but have a 
feeling of mistrust of her. I suspected her motive 
— being a protege of Bourgogne. In spite of the 
mask of self-control she so well assumed she could 
not conceal the intensity of passion in her glances 
when I would suggest that a bright, shrewd and 
beautiful woman, with proper marraige, might rule 
or ruin the House of Hanover. Hearing that I stood 
next in favor to the Duke, the King sent for me. 

“To make short shift; the King beseeched me to . 
throw myself into the breach and, if possible, marry 
Mademoiselle before his brother could return. It 
was a cold-blooded, selfish proposition and I at first 
refused. He dismissed me in a fit of rage, but sent 
for me the next day. He was now augmented by 
the wily tongued Pitts. They reasoned with me 
for several days and finally gained my consent by 
appealing to my patriotism. They told me that the 
House of Hanover was in jeopardy and that England 
was likely to suffer unless something was done. 

I lacked the judgment and discretion of age; the hot 
blood of youth was flowing through my veins; I 
167 


Hn point 0^ IHonor. 

mistook sentiment for patriotism; I consented. 

“Everything was propituous for me to succeed. 
Bourgogne made no objections and Mademoiselle, 
fearing that she had lost the Duke, was ready to 
accept the next best chance. The ceremony was 
performed by the rites of the church of England at 
Galias, France. 

“Two years passed, and she seemed content. A 
child came — a boy. The love I bore that boy in- 
creased the respect I bore for Mademoiselle. Bour- 
gogne was recalled to France and the evil influence 
which had surrounded her was taken away. Tis 
true that she did not love me, but my kindness 
gained her respect and appreciation. At times she 
was sad, very sad, but she never confided in me the 
cause — I was to learn of it in a way that was far 
more different and startling than anything of which 
I had ever heard or dreamed. 

“One day — two years later — the servant brought 
up a card upon which was written, ‘Comte de Berri.’ 
I was in the presence of Mademoiselle at the time, 
and caught the flush of her face as she hurriedly 
and tremblingly left the room. The next day the 
Comte came again, and the next. The third day, 
upon entering my room, I noticed a letter conspicu- 
ously placed where it would attract my attention. 
Mademoiselle Avice had left me for the Comte de 
Berri — the letter told the whole story. 

“Some years prior to her meeting with me, her 
parents had died, leaving her a comfortable, but 
small fortune. The Comte had met her and mar- 
ried her. He loved a free, wild life with plenty of 
money to gratify his desires— and she loved him. In 
168 


fn point of THonor. 

two years the money was gone and want was star- 
ing them in the face. Her friends — so the Comte 
told her — approached him and told him that if he 
would desert her she would be well cared for. He 
loved her, but he was weak; he yielded, and for 
three years he had been a prey to remorse for his 
cowardly act. 

“She became desperate, and making her way to 
London, she solicited the aid of Bourgogne, who had 
been her father’s friend. Seeing her wonderful 
beauty, he conceived the daring idea of an effort to 
ensnare the heart of a prince in the House of Han- 
over and marr his life. You know the result — she 
married me. Two years passed and the Comte 
hearing where she was, had come, pleading his 
weakness and begging her forgiveness. She loved 
him and that was the sequel to why she had gone. 

“As you must know. Miss lima, I was staggered 
at the enormity of the offense which had been per- 
petrated against me for a time, and then the thought 
of the child flashed through my mind, and his illigiti- 
mate birth maddened me. I knew where he likely 
was — father or mother one had him — and I madly 
dashed out to find them and tell of the stigma up- 
on his name. As I brusquely flung open my moth- 
er’s room door, the little fellow stopped cooing to 
her and turned to me with a radiant smile, holding 
out his little fat chubby hands. lima, I was nearer 
being a man then than I have ever been before or 
since. I told my mother, but not in the words I had 
intended. I shall never forget her answer: ‘That 
is alright, Howard,’ she said; ‘it is the man himself 
at whom the world looks, not his parents who have 
169 


1fn ipoint 0 ^ Honor. 

gone before him.’ Illigitimate though he was, yet I 
vowed then and there that my boy should take his 
place among men, without tarnish, or I would battle 
the whole world. 

“Two more years passed, during which time I 
was called on duty to India. I had only been there 
a few months, however, when I received a message 
from England that mother was rapidly failing in 
health and for me to return. I arrived in London 
just in time to be of service to the queen, but my 
mother was dead. In the meantime the Comte de 
Berri had gambled away and squandered what 
money Mademoiselle had and what I had settled up- 
on her — which he made certain to take with them — 
and had once more deserted her. Cheated of life’s 
fullest measure, fleeced, ruined, sick-at-heart, and 
desperate, she made her way back to England, 
crossing the channel the same day I arrived in Lon- 
don. Her mother’s love had asserted itself — per- 
haps her nature demanded that she should have 
something upon which to place her affections — she 
had come to get possession of the child. 

“That night I dismissed the nurse, telling her that I 
v/ould put the boy to bed — intending to have a little 
romp with him before slumber closed his eyes. We 
had been playing for some time, when the door 
swung noiselessly open and Mademoiselle stealthily 
and silently entered. She started upon seeing me, 
and nearly swoomed, while to me her appearance was 
like an apparition. With a wistful, hungry, yet 
frightened look, she fixed her gaze upon the boy, 
and finally asked if she might kiss him. Without 
waiting for me to speak she approached the bed 
170 


Hn ipotnt of THonor. 

while I stood as if paralized during the action, i 
was brought to my senses by the sound of her low 
passionate voice. She was recounting to me the 
story of her husband’s second ruthless desertion of 
her, and ended by telling me that she had returned 
for the boy — claiming she could not live without 
him. 

“ ‘Yes, but you have no right to him,’ I said. 

“ ‘A mother’s claim should always be prior to the 
father’s.’. 

“ ‘Not where the mother has been so heartless 
and unworthy,’ I returned. 

A wild, hunted look crept into her eyes. She 
breathed heavily; she fumbled at the lace around 
her throat; evidently she had not expected serious 
opposition. 

“ ‘I heard that you were in India,’ she said, ‘I did 
not think to find you here.’ 

“I saw her plan; ‘then you intended to steal the 
boy, did you?’ 

“ ‘Yes — but will you give him to me— I must have 
him! Think of his birth.’ 

“I told her no; she remonstrated; but I was firm. 
Some minutes then passed in parley. At times she 
was penitent and beseeching; at others vehement 
and angry. Thrice, several times I tried to reason 
with her, but it made her the more desperate. Fin- 
ally, thinking to compromise, I suggested that she 
take furnished rooms in the city, I making an allow- 
ance for her maintainance. She should have the 
privilege of seeing the boy from three to four times 
a week if she so desired. The proposition maddened 
her; her face turned livid; she fairly hissed her 
. 12^1 


■ffn ipoint of ‘frlonor. 

refusal in my face. A settled, determined calm 
followed her outburst. 

“‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘answer me yes or no — do 
you ever intend to let me have the boy?’ her words 
were intense, while her bosom rose and fell with the 
might of her emotion. 

“ ‘No,’ I answered. 

“ ‘Then if I cannot have him, you shall not !’ 

“Before I even had a comception of her intentions, 
much less had time to thwart her, she stooped over 
the child and grasping him by his little feet, with a 
ruthless hand she dashed his head against the heavy 
bed-post. I sprang toward her, grasping her arm in 
a vice-like grip, just as she flung the body upon the 
bed. Roughly I shoved her from me, turning to 
gather up the quivering, lifeless remains of my boy. 
I must have shoved her with awful force, for in fall- 
ing, her head struck the divan; her neck was broken. 

“The vigil of that night was enough to, and did al- 
most drive me mad. I called no one — I was too 
much dazed. As you know, Lady Bolinbroke says 
they found me there the next day. You can sur- 
mise the rest. I was imprisoned. My friends tried 
to see me, but their efforts were unavailing — my en^ 
emies were powerful. Finally my father succeeded 
in bribing the goaler to allow me to escape. I was 
for fighting it out, but owing to the condition of the 
King, father persuaded me to flee. We did; but 
were overtaken, the servants routed, and my father 
killed. No light, no hope for me then — no respite 
for my wearied soul. A mock court-martial was 
ordered to sit in judgment upon my actions — I am 
now an exile from my native land.” 

172 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE PARDON THAT CAME TOO LATE. 


UST above the trees was the sun. The cool 
of the after-glow we call the dusk was 
M taking the place of the heat of the day. 
Colonel Fairfax walked out to the front 
gate to await the postman, who was coming up the 
graveled driveway. In his hand was a huge pipe, 
the stem of which was in his mouth. A cow could 
be heard lowing down by the river, while a dog was 
barking vociferously out by the negro cabins. 

lima arose fpm the rustic seat and approached 
that part of the summer house directly overlooking 
the terraces. Her face was studiously averted. 
Noll sat silently watching her, a new fear stealing 
into her heart. Under such circumstances seconds 
pass with the slowness of minutes. With much mis- 
giving he also arose and approached her. 

“You remember,” he began, “that I told you that 
I feared the telling of my story would not place me 
in the light in which I should wish you to see me?” 

A mock bird that had been fluffing lazily at 
his feathers, suddenly awakened to life, and flutter- 
ing to the topmost bough of a pine, began pouring 
out his luscious, liquid notes. lima turned — there 
were great unshed tears in her eyes, while a smile 
half petulent, half playful was playing around her 
mouth. 

“It is not that, sir; I was — O, I do not know what 
to say — I was thinking of that other woman.” 

173 


fln point of IHonor. 

“But don’t you see?— I did not love her — I love 
only ” 

“Noll !” thundered Colonel Fairfax. “Arthur 
Howard Noll ! — Od’s blood, does it take a peal of 
thunder to make you two hear out there! I say, 
Noll, here is a message from England, and ” 

The thunder of a horse’s hoofs here attracted the 
Colonel’s attention and he failed to finish his sentence. 
Rapidly swinging up the graveled driveway was a 
horse and rider. They drew not rein until they 
were almost abreast of the gate upon which the 
Colonel had been leaning. 

“George Washington has been appointed Com- 
mander-in-chief of the Continental Army ” 

“The devil ” 

“And here is a message from his Excellency to 
Brigadier-general, Arthur Howard Noll. I must be 
off — have other messages to deliver.” 

“I say, Arthur ” 

“I am here, sir.” 

The Colonel’s loud voice had created a comotion 
even as far as the house, and by the time Noll and 
lima had joined him, Mrs. Fairfax and a number of 
servants had clustered around. Wonderingly the 
Colonel handed the messages to their owner. See- 
ing expectancy written upon every face, Noll broke 
the seal of the first one. It was from England. A 
small sheet of paper, upon which was the following 
writing, encircled a more lengthy document: 

Sir: — 

Upon investigation it has been found that a 
deplorable mistake was made in your case, and that 
you were in nowise guilty of the charge upon which 
U4> 


Hn point ot IHonor. 

you were convicted. Therefore the King has in- 
structed me to personally inclose to you pardon for 
any crime you may, or may be suspected of having 
committed. I gladly correct the wrong, and freely 
and humbly beg your pardon for my loutish brusque- 
ness on that day in the library. The King begs that 
you report for service immediately to General Gage, 
your commission being also inclosed. Assuring you 
of my regrets at your unmerited exile, I beg to re- 
main your well wisher, fredeRICK NORTH. 

Noll passed the paper to the Colonel, whose wife 
and daughter stood looking on over his shoulder. 
He then broke the seal of the message from Wash- 
ington. It was short and to the point: 

Dear Sir: — 

You will no doubt recall, upon seeing whom 
this is from, the conversation we had on the day of 
the raffles at the King’s Inn, and in which I ques- 
tioned you so closely. Sir, 1 was satisfied with the 
answers you gave. I now have the pleasure, as 
Gommander-in-chief of the Colonial Army, to offer 
you a place upon my staff, or a commission as 
Brigadier-general in the army. If accepted please 
report at once ready for duty. Yours truly, 
GEORGE WASHINGTON. 

“Gads, sir!” exclaimed the Colonel, after reading 
Washington’s message, “You are like the man in 
mythology, one Antaeus, a famous wrestler! Ev- 
ery time he touched the ground it renewed his 
strength. Your misfortunes have seemingly but 
added to your popularity and merit in the end.” 

“It does seem that way, sir,” answered Noll with 
a puzzled, uncertain air. 

“Which shall you accept, sir?” asked Mrs. Fairfax. 
175 


■ffn point 0^ IHonor. 

But Noll did not hear her. In his heart two 
questions were waging battle — the love of native 
land; the love of woman — two mighty factors that 
should help govern the life of every man. Which 
would win? 

“You have not told us which offer you will accept, 
Sir Howard,” lima reminded him, a world of plead- 
ing questioning in her voice. 

Noll let his eyes rest upon her. A steady pur- 
pose began to burn in them. Deliberately he took 
the pardon of the King and began tearing it into 
little bits, scattering the pieces to the winds. 

“Too late,” he said, “the Colonies have and of a 
right ought to be free.” 

The sun sank behind the tree-tops; the mock bird 
hushed his song. 









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